In the moonlight, the creature lays dormant beside me, his head foisted upon my pillow. I did not invite this rather personal sleeping arrangement, but the creature prefers — nay, demands — it. During the night, he thrashes and twists his body into unholy configurations, growing inexplicably larger until he takes up the entire bed. It is bedeviling.
When we are in nature, the creature moves with an unsettling purpose, always searching. He employs his long snout to feverishly sift through leaves and other detritus, until finally, he unearths what he is looking for. It is almost always excrement.
Through my observations, I have gleaned that the activity the creature loves most is chewing on the hard bones of long-deceased animals. He gnaws and crunches, throwing them in the air as if he is reenacting a gruesome ritual from a past life. The bones reek and become viscous to the touch. Yet I shudder to think what may become of me, or my couch, if I do not provide this outlet for his primordial instincts. And so we have reached an understanding: a steady stream of noxious bones, in exchange for tranquility.
On the trail today, the creature took a brief respite from rummaging for dung to engage in a peculiar routine with a long, spindly, equally maniacal demon named George. The two swished their tails and locked their front limbs together in a grotesque facsimile of a hug. Noting the similarities in their fiendish behavior, George’s guardian and I have agreed to arrange for the two to meet again. A welcome proposition, as the creature seems never to tire.
When the air becomes frigid, the creature requires special attire that covers all four of his unusually elongated limbs. Children and adults alike shriek at the mere sight of him. I have become inured to this lurid spectacle, but I must remember it is quite unnatural to see a carnivorous beast in a bright orange puffer jacket.
A rather curious finding: when I speak certain words, (namely “bone” and “chicken,” for these seem to be of great interest to the creature), he responds by tilting his head in eager recognition. It is a considerable breakthrough in our communication. I am rather giddy.
The creature is not alone. The spindly demon George is visiting our home. As I write this entry, I am privy to a horrible grunting as the two beasts take turns biting each other’s faces. I do not intervene, for I have come to learn that for the creature, this ghoulish game is a great delight.
Around mid-day, I ventured to the refrigerator when I got an eerie shiver in my bones. I spun around to a frightful sight: the creature underfoot, surveying me with a piercing, unrelenting gaze. How he arrived so swiftly and so stealthily, I cannot fathom. It seems my attempts at evading him are of no use. He detects the sound of the cheese drawer opening with his supernatural hearing, and I cannot deny him his sharp white cheddar.
The creature rams his skull into my leg until I acquiesce and lift him. He curls up in a ball like a deadly viper atop my lap. I dare not stir for the next two hours.
My home is silent. Disturbingly so. This can only mean one thing: the creature has occupied himself by destroying something precious of mine with an unwavering fervor. I begin a frantic search before I remember: he is at George’s today. Alas. I feel a deep sense of relief, but also, I must admit, a longing.
I have taken ill to my bed with a sudden fever. The creature, despite missing our daily journey to the woods to scour for animal droppings, is content to lay by my side. Although I do not understand his motives, I am grateful for the companionship.
Today I brought the creature home a gift: a tiny effigy of a squirrel. When I presented it to him, he ripped its head off and victoriously paraded around our home with it, before proceeding to diligently remove its white, fluffy entrails. A ghastly sight no doubt, but a joy to see my creature happy.
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About me
I’m a comedy writer and freelance copywriter living in Brooklyn. My humor writing has been published by The New Yorker, The New York Times, McSweeney’s, Reductress, and more. I’m the co-author of Jokes to Offend Men, which was named the #2 Comedy Book of 2022 by Vulture. I’m available for new writing projects, writing coaching, and nerding out about comedy, so please reach out and say hi!