I don't find your sick sense of humor amusing...

Chloro Phil was in big trouble. He had traveled south from his adopted community at Chama in search of someone named “Maxwell.” The boy, still unidentified as far as Phil knew, was, as far as Phil knew, still in a coma. The boy had whimpered “Maxwell needs help,” and Chama’s Council of Elders had decided to send Phil to follow the scrap of paper the boy had in his pocket. This scrap of paper had a line drawn on it, like a map, with three X’s marking locations. One of the X’s was circled, and Phil had discovered that it was an abandoned campground. Unfortunately for Phil, the campground’s dining room wasn’t abandoned at all.

The beast staring him down was nightmarish. It was huge, and had arms and legs grafted all over its body. Its four heads stuck off a central torso, creating the illusion that the beast could not decide which head was supposed to be at the top. It was snarling at Phil, teeth bared, like it was a watchdog. And its crouched posture made Phil think he was about to become fertilizer for somebody’s garden. 

But why keep watch over this decrepit old campground? The place was nothing but a handful of derelict RV’s and broken signs, promising good times. Perhaps this was a fun family campground, but it was hard to remember those places before the bombs fell. Enough years had passed to make most of those pre-apocalypse days little more than fuzzy memories. 

The beast was indeed watching this place though, and Phil wondered if it was the monster’s home, or if it really was some kind of service animal in the employ of a master. Who would keep such a creature though? And how in the world had it survived with such trauma to its body? Some of the arms and legs had fresh stitching, giving the appearance that the creature was a work in progress. But working towards what? Perhaps Phil could talk to it?

“Whoa boy. Good boy” Phil cooed, waving his hands in a “calm down” motion. I’m not here to hurt you.” 

The creature eyed Phil curiously, then reared up to its full height and let out a bellow that rattled what little glass still clung tenaciously in the windows. Was that a bellow, or was the monster belching? 

As terrified as Phil was, he was also amused because belching was always one of his stupid human tricks. He had learned as a young child how to release enormous amounts of noisy gas from his stomach. He could even audibly fill his stomach with air as he generated the wind to rip off a huge burp. Most people found it disgusting, which only added to the satisfaction of such an odd and disturbing capability. So, Phil stood tall, put his hands in the air, and let out a belch almost as large as the monster’s. 

“What, pray tell, are you doing?” Maxwell inquired, whimpering through the pain of being lashed to one of the heavy wooden dining tables. The tables had been amassed in the center of the dining room, with one end of each leaning up against the room’s central support beam. The arrangement gave the impression that someone had tried to make a teepee out of the furniture. Maxwell was strapped naked to one, and appeared to be the beast’s next victim. 

“You know what?” Phil said over his shoulder, “I don’t know who’s writing this story but it keeps getting weirder. I think I’m having a belching contest with a monster.”

“Well, the beast seems to be responding to your disgustingness. You’ve met its challenge, and I think it’s… impressed? Maybe you should belch again to be sure.” 

“What? It sounded like you were grossed out. Now you want me to burp again?” Phil had only met Maxwell a few minutes before the freakshow on the other side of the room had arrived. Phil couldn’t decide if Maxwell liked him or not, and his body language was tough to read. Granted Max was strapped naked to a table and about to be lunch for an abomination, but one would think that he’d appreciate Phil showing up to save him. 

“You’re a weird old guy, you know that?” Phil had to talk out of the side of his mouth. He had always been taught to never show your back to a wild animal, and had no intention of forgetting that lesson now. But amazingly enough, the monster turned around and headed off down the hallway.

“I don’t know where that last idea came from.” Max was confused too. “Perhaps the writer is making me do the unexpected as well?” 

“Hmmm…hopefully he’ll write us out of this mess intact. I don’t want to become part of that creature. What do you know about this mutant?”

“It sure seems like a monster, and I’ve had the unfortunate experience of watching it tear apart these other poor people I’ve been held captive with. It’s an awful thing to watch. Its claws slice open the victim’s belly, then it slurps up the intestines and organs that spill out. And it does this while the person is still alive. It’s horrible.”

“But why all the arms and legs, and heads stuck all over it? How do they get there?”

“I don’t know about that. I’ve only seen it gorge on the bodies, and then it drags the carcass outside. But every time it comes back, it’s in need of a new pair of gloves and shoes.”

“Wow, you find this amusing enough to crack a joke, huh?” Phil was liking Maxwell less and less. His initial impression of this old man was a helpless victim, but now the old geezer seemed twisted up in the head.

“I didn’t make a joke. I’d never make a joke about a serious thing like this!” 

“You just did though. That piece about gloves and shoes was crass and unnecessary.”

“Oh my, I did say that didn’t I?” Maxwell took a deep breath, then looked at the ceiling, as if addressing the author: “Excuse me good sir, please stop making me out to be something I’m not. I’m an old college history professor, and have always been a serious person. I don’t find your sick sense of humor amusing.”

Phil chuckled. “Do you think it’s really that easy? We just ask the author to write our story the way we want, and not the way he wants? How neat would that be? It’s empowering really to think the characters of a book have that much authority in crafting the story.”

“Give it a try. Why not? But maybe you can talk to him and untie me at the same time.”

“Listen up out there” Phil announced to the rafters, “I don’t know who you think you are, but I never had any intention of turning myself into a plant! I don’t know where you got that idea from, but it’s sick and twisted. I’m glad it worked out for me, but what if it hadn’t? What if I had poisoned myself and ended up dying? You wouldn’t have a story if that happened! If I die now, you won’t have anything left to write about. So slow your roll and let me live. Let Maxwell live too, please!” With that, he went over and worked on Max’s bindings.

“You think this will work? In all the books I’ve read and studied, even the weird ones I taught my college history classes with, I’ve never heard of such a thing as the character of the story steering the direction by actually speaking to the author. Now I can say that I’ve truly seen it all.” 

“Well, we aren’t sure it has worked, so let’s get you untied and get out of here before that…that…thing comes back.”

“I wouldn’t mind finding some clothes while we’re at it.” Both Maxwell and Chloro Phil laughed at that. 

Bindings undone, both men dropped to a crouch and headed towards the opposite side of the dining room than where the monster went. There was no telling where it had gone, so with extreme caution, they scurried out of the building and back to the RV where Phil had taken refuge. He had seen clothes lying around in there, and it would be nice to cover up Max’s old man weiner. Phil didn’t want to see any more of that. Perhaps he should tell the author to keep Maxwell clothed for the rest of the story?