8. Ode to Madeline: Party Crasher

Ode to Madeline: Party Crasher

Okay, okay.

It’s fine.

Everything’s fine.

Breath, Madeline. Breathe. You can do this.

Everything’s fine.

…

BUT IN WHAT WORLD IS THIS EVER FINE????????!?!?!!

“ ‘Sup, Madeline. Long time no see!”

Oh my god, please tell me I’m still dreaming. Think. Think right now! How’s he here? How’s he in front of me? Did he eat the neighbors? Was that him? How long has it been? Ten years? No, twelve. Oh, my god, I can’t think. Please, please, God! Let this be a dream.

Okay.

Let’s… try to be nice.

“Uh, umm, hello! You are… uh… I don’t… I don’t believe we’ve met! Hello! My name is…” I extended my hand toward the demon.

“Yeah, yeah. I know your name, Madeline. What? You forgot who was the best B-day Planner that ever graced the industry?” He spoke. HE SPOKE. OH SHIT, HE’S REAL! Nonononononononono.

“Who? I don’t remember speaking to anyone like you— Wait, how did you get behind me?” I tried to put on my nicest voice.

“It’s me! Only the best B-day Lover of all time! Say, you got a kid? There’s lots of diapers and shit around,” he spoke again, one hand holding Asha’s used diapers.

Why is he so calm? Nononono, he’s planning something! But I can’t figure out what! Okay, observe! Check his body! Check his pocket! What does he have that could harm us? Buzzsaw? Guns? Knives? Please! I need to know! Can’t freak out. For Asha. Yes, Asha. He will hurt her. He has no qualms about violence. Just like…

Shit. The thoughts are coming back. Please don’t let me see them. Please don’t let me see them. Their arms and their skins. The banner and the carts. The soup and the meat. Why am I even thinking about them? Stop. Stop! I have to forget that day. Please, please, please. Sis, Mom, Dad, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have…

Please. GET OUT OF MY MIND!

“Damn, you’re sweating like a kid wanting to go potty-pot. Say, Madeline, how old are you now? Did the orphanage guys take care of you? How’d you get a kid? And who’s Daddy?”

He winked. A disgusting wink.

Okay, let’s try the nice voice again. “Sir, with all due respect, I don’t know who you are. And my name’s not Madeline. I am Mrs. Balcom. Nice to meet you. Now, if you would be so kind, I must attend to the house chores. Please exit through this door behind me and be on your way.”

Nice. That was good. He will think he’s at the wrong house. Now, where did I put my shotgun? Under the kitchen table? Behind the fridge? How will I get there? I can’t let him out of my sight.

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“Uhhhhh, no? I saw your name on the mailbox: Madeline Balcom?” He said as he took a white mailbox—ours—out of his coat pocket, with grass and dirt still on the base. Oh, my god, this day cannot get any worse. I knew I shouldn’t have gotten that free mailbox-labeling service.

“No… Whatever do you mean? That was… That was… The house’s previous owner! Who had the same last name as me… But she was my cousin! A cousin of a cousin,” I said with the absolutely certainty that I’m toast.

“Uh, has anyone ever told you that you’re a terrible liar? Man, looks like your crying back then really was real!” He seemed like he smiled, grinning over me. Just like in my nightmares.

This cannot be true. I can’t hide. I can’t run. I didn’t even change my first name. I should have.

As if by instincts, I slowly slid my back down the door. I was slumping down, gosh. He’s so towering; I’m still so small. Please, I’d do anything to get him out, please, God, hear my prayers…

“You are Mr. BP, right?” I spoke, wishing it wasn’t true. “Please leave. There’s nothing here for you.”

“Aha! I’m not schizophrenic after all! Looks like I still have my genius intuition after all. Godbless!”

“Why did you come back, Mr. BP? I have nothing to give you anymore. You’ve taken them all.”

I heaved my body up and dragged it to the kitchen table. I slumped back on a chair, but tried to keep my posture as straight as possible. If this is my last day, I want to look presentable. Okay, so I’ll readjust my collars and sleeves. Alright. I think I look better.

“Oh, uh. Okay, so I know I told you that I didn’t want to see you anymore, but now is different! I… uh… have been solo-camping! Outside! Yessssss, not because I’m broke as hell, naaaah. Totally camping! Yeah, that’s right! A self-made man, me! I’m a free spirit! Can’t stay in one place at once…”

This man could never stop talking. While he was yapping, I could observe his appearance in a clearer light. Traces of blood lined his jaws. Yup, he ate the neighbors, alright. Dying right now would be convenient, really; I do not want to clean all that blood in the garden.

“… Yeah, yeah! Anyway, on my journey to self-discovery, I’ve encountered some… complicated disagreement with the local laws. So! If you don’t mind, I’mma have to crash here for a few days…”

“I’m sorry, Mr. BP. I can’t do that,” I replied. His schemes might be dangerous, so I can’t risk anything.

No. Can’t risk anything? What am I even thinking? The demon can rip me in half any time he wants. What can I do?

“Madeline! Oh my god, you look as pale as a corpse! Are you coming down with an incurable cancerous disease? Okay, okay, I won’t disturb your family life! I can sleep on the roof!”

Real subtle, this guy. I bet he was only pretending to care. He was squirming and rubbing his skully hands together, acting like he was apologetic. A demon in human fashion. He wore a large black coat, with dress shoes and ties. But he could not fool me. He was not human. Never have been. Large pairs of horns protruded from his white skull. He had no skin. Plain bones. Goat bones?

His numbskull head shook profusely like Asha when she denied wetting the bed. I can’t believe my eyes. Why’s he trying to win me over? What can he gain? Is he that sadistic?

“Mr. BP, haven’t you hurt me enough?”

Wait, damn! I should have phrased that less personally!

“What? Is that, like, oh, what is it…? Oh! Oh! A rhetorical question!”

He’s dodging it.

“Oh? You’ve forgotten? Who was it that thrusted my… family on a stake and cooked them like food?” I almost choked.

“Uhhhh… Well… Funny you mentioned ‘thrust’… uhhhhhh.” He said while fidgeting with his bony hands.

What’s he got that he’s so nervous about? After all those screaming… Why is he so shy? God, I’m nervous. Is this even Mr. BP? THE Birthday Planner?

“See, Madeline. Uhhhh, the local laws, kinda, uhhhhh. They didn’t really like me, so I kinda got in trouble a bit. And the guard was a very hot—Ahem! So I had to thrust—Pardon me! And, well, the thing is, sometimes you have to do things that you’re not proud of to get out of a situation that you’re not proud of getting in the first place! Yeah! That’s it! Life lesson learned!”

Oh.