12. Ode to Madeline: Shopping Shenanigans

Ode to Madeline: Shopping Shenanigans

I would love to skip ahead and talk about our wonderful shopping trip, with how much fun Mr. BP and I will have picking food off the shelves, and just having a grand old time.

But we’re stuck in traffic.

And I’m getting a little restless.

It’s early in the morning, so the number of cars is to be expected. People want to go to work and sprint through their 9-to-5. Normal stuff. What I didn’t expect, though, was a hit-and-run up ahead. The culprit must have been on some heavy stuff, because from what I could see, the victim’s Subaru was barely a scrap of metal. The steering wheel, shards of mirrors, and car seats were scattered everywhere. Two bodies, a male and a female, were carried off onto the stretchers and taken inside the white ambulance.

While police officers and paramedics were clearing up the scene, I saw Mr. BP staring at the wreckage, drooling at the bodies on the stretchers, his pupils growing bigger every second. I could see him shaking in the mirror; he was eager to go out and feed. How could I forget? Fresh human flesh is his A5 Wagyu beef.

“Madeline,” he broke the silence. “Can I…”

“I’m unhappy.”

“Wait—AAAIAIIAIIIEIJ0EFIJ3P2Q2JQJFQWQNIPFJFP!!!!!!” He cried a little.

“You’re not going out there, Mr. BP. What did I say?”

The Divine Flame was as unforgiving as ever, swallowing him whole and chewing his carcass thoroughly. It didn’t spread around the car, though, so that’s a really good sign. Heh. It means I can torture him anywhere, anytime.

“AHHHH, OWWWW, GOOOOOOD, STOP!!!! PLEAASSSEEEEEE! mAdLine!!! I’M SoRRyYyyyY, STOoOoOOPpppPP!!!!!”

“Rule 3 of House Balcom: No eating humans. Roger?”

“.................” A puff of smoke blew out from his skull’s eye holes.

“Roger?” I repeated.

“..... yesh….”

After Mr. BP cooled off a little and the road began clearing up, I silently drove. I opened the window to let some clear air in, but feared Mr. BP jumping out and escaping, so I promptly closed it. Great, another headache. What can I do to prevent Mr. BP from killing people when I’m not with him?

“Nice weather,” he gazed at the sky through the window.

“Yes.”

“Very, very chill weather. Good for cooling off my burned skin,” he continued.

“Uh-huh.”

“Man, I wish I weren’t treated poorly all the time. Otherwise, I might need to file for abuse.” He turned his head toward me. “Don’t you agree, Madeline?”

“Yes, very.”

He slumped back on his seat, knees jerking up to my shoulder height, trying desperately to fit his giant demonic frame in the car’s human-sized space. I thought he would burst into another fit, and I would have to burn him again, but he seemed oddly calm. Is it a calmness that comes after exhaustion? Either way, he’s weak now. He has been thoroughly defeated! I won!

I couldn’t help but smile, just a little.

“We’re in Canada, aren’t we?” He asked with eyes barely opened.

“Yep… Wait a minute… How do you know where I live?” How did I not ask him this before?

He pointed out the window. “That bridge… That beach… That Granville something-something market… Yeah… You definitely live in Vancouver.” He spoke slowly, almost slurring his words together.

“Not that! Answer my question, demon! How do you know where my house is?!” I gritted my teeth.

“I have a good memory.”

“Oh, yeah? But not for your victims, eh? The people you mercilessly slaughtered?”

“...” He closed his eyes and began snoring softly.

Okay, this isn’t good. My family had been living on the west side since the 60s. I know it’s possible to keep a list of your victims’ locations if you were a deranged serial birthday planner, but I have moved to Kitsilano since then. So, how did he know exactly where my house was? Ugh, this is giving me a migraine. There are still so many questions surrounding Mr. BP and his strange agenda. And I felt my head splitting in two just thinking about it.

I decided to temporarily forget these mysteries. There are no clues at the moment, and I have a shopping list to tackle. As I slowly backed into a parking spot at Costco, I hit a small bump, jolting Mr. BP awake.

“WHAT? WHAT? What happened?” He started frantically punching the air.

“We’re here. At Costco. Get yourself ready.” I stepped out of the car and walked over to the trunk. Just as I grabbed some empty bags, I quickly realized my stupidity.

“MR. BP! GET BACK INSIDE! THEY CAN SEE YOU!”

“What?”

“Urgghhhh!!! Don’t you get it?” I pointed to his skull-like head. “Look at your horns! Look at your sharp rows of teeth! You’re clearly a demon! What will happen to me if people panic at your horrific appearance?”

“Ummm… Uhhh…”

“Don’t you have a human disguise or something?”

“How do you think I’ve been getting around, Madeline? You think I’m stupid or something?”

“Of course, I do! You’re the literal definition of ‘stupid is as stupid does’!”

“Well, how rude, Mrs. Balcom!” He puffed out his chest and put one hand on it. “I’ll let you know: I am a professional! A Birthday Messiah like me gotta look good!”

“Well, then, get your magic disguise on! We don’t have time for your stupidity!” I huffed and walked away. But I was very curious to see what he would look like, so I slightly turned my head around—enough to make him think I don’t care, but enough to see what’s going on.

He blew my mind away.

“Well… What’d you think? Sweet, huh?” He struck a pose.

Where do I begin? He… He… Uhhhh… Okay, so like… Picture one of those marble Greek sculptures made by Michelangelo. Gorgeous jawlines, well-defined cheekbones, and thick eyebrows. That’s what Mr. BP looks like right now—like a Greek sculpture. He’s still freakishly tall, but his height almost adds to his seemingly radiant complexion. His hair is curly, brownish red, and the breeze made his locks float in the air. He almost looks like an angel. Almost…

Stop. Hold on. This will not do. THIS WILL NOT DO! He’s overqualified!

“Mr. BP, what is this? A prank? Did you steal that face from a statue in an art museum somewhere?”

“Whaaaaaaaat? Nooooooooo! Why would you think so? I made this myself! Cost me like 50K souls. You better appreciate it, you demon hater!”

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

Yeah, he’s still an asshole. But his gorgeous face—no!—his “slightly above-average” face betrays his demented demeanor.

“Alright, how about you tweak your magical disguise a bit? Make it so that I can still see your ugly skull-head with horns, but others see you in your K-Pop model appearance?”

“Are you kidding me, Madeline? I’m not a fashion designer nor a plastic surgeon! That would, like, drain my energy! You know how hard it is already to keep this mug on?”

“Hmpth!” I crossed my arms. “Don’t care. Didn’t ask. Change it. I will burn you if you don’t.”

He frothed at the mouth in anger, and it looked so off-putting to see such an angelic face wasted on a vile demon like him. Oh, what has this world come to?

“You know what? Fine! Okay! I’ll change it! Geez…” He turned around and started fiddling around his coat pockets.

I also turned the other way. It took a few minutes until the BP I knew stood in front of me again.

“There he is—Mr. Killer,” I grabbed the empty bags and handed them to him. “Can the gentleman carry these for the dainty lady, pretty please?”

He snatched it from my hands, huffing and puffing like a baby. How is this a grown-ass man?

“Alright. Shall we go shopping, Mr. BP?”

We strolled into Costco, and were immediately overwhelmed by the sea of shoppers, consisting of middle-aged ladies and energetic kids. I was barely breathing, trying to swim toward a nearby shopping cart, while others were splashing toward that cart faster than a motorboat. It was a war. And it almost took my life before Mr. BP yanked me out of the flooding crowd, saving me from death by drowning.

“C’mon, Madeline. Did you underestimate my power? I can carry these just fine. We don’t need that pissy cart, ‘cuz we’ve got these guns, baby!” He flexed his non-existent muscle. Unless his bony hands and arms have nerves, I think he’s bullshitting me.

“Yeah, yeah, anyway, before we go in…” I grabbed my shopping list from my right pocket. Uhh… Oops. I meant my left pocket.

“We need some new wooden floorboards. ‘Cuz you wrecked them when you passed out from… choking me.” Okay, that sounded really weird.

“Heh. Are you describing a porn scene? Lmao.”

“Language!”

“SORRY! Sorry! I meant: ‘adult entertainment script.’ Hehehehehe…”

We treaded through the treacherous water full of Costco shoppers. I don’t know which is harder to believe: the enormous number of shoppers on a Monday, or the fact that I have a demon as my bag carrier. I should feel proud of myself, right? Yeah, Madeline, you should be proud of yourself. You are an independent mother of one! Choirs of angels should sing praise about you for ages to come! Yeah! Go, Madeline, go! Go, Madeline, go!

We quickly found what we needed, and I just piled them on Mr. BP. I made sure to aim for his stupid skull-head as I threw the boxes in his direction.

“Hey! What the heck, Madeline? Why’d you throw that instead of handing it to me gently?”

“What? Can’t hear you~ There’s too many people~”

“Grrrrr…”

Costco was buzzing as usual, full of laughter and banter, so I wasn’t wrong. I could barely hear my own voice as I shouted something back at Mr. BP. There was such an unparalleled energy in the warehouse, filled with rivers of human emotions pouring out freely as everyone argued over price tags and budget. I picked up the milk carton and a stick of unsalted butter, and scanned my surroundings for people. Why? To make sure I won’t hit them accidentally. Hehehehehe…

“Mr. BP~”

“WHAT?! I can’t hear you—”

He was rudely interrupted by an accurate throw of butter in his face. By none other than yours truly. It hit him straight in his left eye.

“WHAT THE HE—”

Then, he was struck square in the face by the milk carton.

“Hahahahahaha!!! You should’ve seen your face! Oh, my gosh, my stomach. Hahahahahahahaha!”

He looked as if a squirrel peed on him and a truck splashed rainwater all over his coat. His face glowed beet red in hot rage and embarrassment, but mostly rage. To my surprise, he stomped away from me, mumbling about getting this over quickly to go home. Oh, my gosh, I can’t. It’s… It’s so… Freaking… It’s so freaking funny! Ahahahahahahahaha!

I caught up to him and put my hands behind my back. “Oh, noooooooo… Poor widdle Mr. Baby~ Did you have a bad boo-boo? Oh, no! You want Mommy to cuddle you~?”

He scrunched his face in pure hatred. I swear I could see veins popping on his bones.

“Ahahahahahaha! What are you so shy about? Isn’t this what you wanted? Huh, Mr. Killer?” I kept nudging his arm until I was satisfied.

He glared at me, of course, but surprisingly, he stayed silent.

If there’s one thing I can admire about Mr. BP, which is extremely rare, it’s that he’s actually very skilled at swallowing his anger. Gosh, I wonder when he will burst. I should keep a camera just in case—to take a commemorative photo when that happens and hang it on his grave.

Time passed by rather quickly, and we were already near the cashier. So, I checked the shopping list one more time:

1. Floorboards

2. Butter

3. Milk

4. Toothpaste

5. Bread

6. Asha’s B-day gift

“Hmmm… What should I get for Asha’s birthday?” I mumbled.

Oh, no.

I shouldn’t have said that out loud.

Mr. BP was walking in front of me. And it didn’t even take a second for him to stop walking, very slowly cocking his head around—180 degrees—twisting it to stare straight at me.

“Madeline, I must be deaf. But, I could’ve sworn…”

“NO! You didn’t! You didn’t hear any—”

“Asha’s birthday, eh?”

“Nononononono… Don’t you DARE. I will burn—”

Then, I kid you not, he started floating upward. UPWARD! HOW? The Costco warehouse was full of light, but for some reason, all the lights were beaming straight at him. Everyone stopped in their tracks and stared at us! Please, please don’t let me die of embarrassment from this demon clown! Arms stretched out and legs relaxed, he started floating on his back, thirty feet up in the ceiling. Then, his huge skull-head slowly stretched into a wide, toothy, and horrific grin.

To my right, an electric keyboard started playing by itself. It played a soft, ethereal tune, like meditation music or something… Wait! No! That’s besides the point! I have to get him down before securities come!

“Sorry, Madeline. I’m not even angry over you right now…” He spoke while floating.

“GET DOWN FROM THERE, YOU JERK!” I shouted as loud as I could. Oh, god, more people are staring at me.

“I bear no grudge against anyone,” he continued. “It’s just that the world feels so, so wonderful right now…”

I stared in horror as Mr. BP positioned himself standing up, but still hovering above. The warehouse light seemed to glow brighter as it embraced his figure in heaven-like radiance. He raised one hand to the sky and pointed a finger to the ground.

“Throughout Heaven and Hell, I alone am the Birthday Planner,” he proclaimed.

The whole room was silent. Not a sound was uttered. Not even the beep-bop sound from the self-checkout machines. Everyone was either shocked in horror or shocked in awe. Some older ladies even started kneeling. Some people clasped their hands together and began mumbling prayers.

“The merit of being a Birthday Planner is that no matter when or where, there will always be a Birthday child to celebrate, a tradition passed down through generations…”

“MR. BP, IF YOU’RE NOT STOPPING RIGHT NOW, I SWEAR YOU WILL FEEL MY WRATH, YOU HEAR ME?”

“You have a daughter, don’t you? That’s why you need to celebrate her birthday.”

“MR. BP! GET. DOWN. NOW!”

“However, even in the Birthday industry, only a scant few know about this… ”

The annoying angelic music started building up, but by then, every Costco shopper around me had already begun kneeling in prayer. Even the security guards were kneeling! They were clasping their hands and repeating one phrase: “Happy Birthday.”

Ignoring me, he clutched his index and middle fingers with his thumb and pointed them forward.

“Take the Birthday cake and the Birthday kid, then smash together those two different expressions to create and push out imaginary Birthday mass…”

The music grew to a peak, and my eyes gaped open at his floating figure, feeling an emotion I can’t describe. This morning… cannot get any worse.

“Imaginary Birthday Technique: We Are So Back.”

The light immediately cut out, shrouding the entire warehouse in darkness. I could barely see it, but Mr. BP has appeared next to me again, smiling the widest and most horrible grin I’ve ever seen.

No.

Please.

Not again…

Don’t do it—

“IT’S TIME TO PLAN ANOTHER BIRTHDAY, BABYYYYYYYY!!!!! WOOOOHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!”

God, help me.