
About three months ago, Robert Shivers, the life-long friend of Howard Foker, had unexpectedly gone into the hospital for a few nights for minor surgery. Shivers had given Howard the key to his apartment so that Howard could feed and care for Robertโs hamster, Blinky. Howard was oblivious, however, to the surveillance cameras, embedded in the apartmentโs walls, originally installed by Robert to identify any burglar intent on kidnapping his beloved pet.
Howard had no sooner settled comfortably into Robertโs easy chair to watch the new autumn lineup of reality TV shows, than there was a scratching noise from Blinkyโs cage: clawing the bars, the little pest was furiously demanding its feed. Just like its master: always annoying Howard with irritating demands. In fact, the more Howard watched Blinky, the more he wondered if Robert actually had not been turned into this hamster by a wizardโs spell. The random shuffling, followed by sudden bursts of frenetic activity, then the way it greedily slopped its food and water – all very Robert Shivers.
While poking through the kitchen closets looking for the little monsterโs vitamin-enriched meal, Howard discovered a thick envelope. On it, in Shiversโ childish scrawl, were the words: โMy Stimulus Package.โ Stuffed inside the envelope was a smaller packet on which Shivers had written: โBoy, this is hot.โ Gently opening it, Howardโs attitude toward Robert was about to change forever.
Stapled together were advertising glossies featuring images of kitchen appliances, a generic, stock photo of the Statue of Liberty, set against the skyline of New York City, and assorted printouts of objects, such as jugs, for sale online. A sticky note was attached to the documents on which Robert Shivers had scribbled, โWow, what a turn-on!โ
Included with this stash was also a notarized statement which read:
โI, Robert Shivers say, under penalty of perjury, that I have an intense erotic desire for nonhuman objects. I find myself completely unable to lust after any human being no matter their genderโฆโ
In addition, among the papers was a copy of a letter from Robert addressed to the executive producer, Jay James, of the new reality TV cable program, โItโs a Wild, Weird World,โ which specializes in presenting to its audience – in its own words – โthe unbelievable – uncensored.โ The letter read in part:
โDear Mr. James,
I have watched your show with great interest. I understand you are seeking guests with shocking and completely unique life-stories. I believe I can fulfill your programโs needs as I am just such a potential guest (my appearance being offered at your normal rate). Please see my attached affidavit with attachments. I think that the story of people who have sexual desires for only nonhuman objects would be of considerable interest to your audiences who tune in every week in search of โthe unbelievable – uncensoredโฆโโ
Stunned, Howard blinked his eyes: one can think he knows a person but actually never really know him. Huge difference between hanging out with this dude at the Big Hit sports bar watching Monday Night Football and getting a peek into his creepy, private world.
Who but a twisted weirdo could get an orgasm from a toaster? And even though the Statue of Liberty was a woman and was made by the French, it seemed really bizarre if not downright unpatriotic to be sexually aroused by Americaโs iconic symbol – I mean the Statue of Liberty for godโs sake!
But Howard, his stomach grumbling its complaint against his skimpy breakfast, headed for the kitchen again but this time more to satisfy his hunger for food than his curiosity about Shiversโ twisted inner life.
Rummaging around for a can opener, Howard immediately found yet another clump of documents crammed into a dusty hole in the back of the kitchenโs cupboardsโ walls; delicately opening the scruffy plastic-wrapped bundle stinking of mildew, he lightly pawed the shiny but stained upmarket furniture catalogue advertising the usual items: blonde floor lamps with pale white shades, rainbow-colored, starkly-crafted chairs, smoothly-contoured black coffee tables, slab-like soft floor beds piled with cheery little patterned cushions.
Then shocked, he looked closer and gasped – or, more to the point, gurgled an explosion of saliva: a glossy image of the pudgy body and face of Robert Shivers, naked except for black socks, was shown on one of the catalogueโs pages, hunched over a blonde floor lamp with a virginal white shade, a lusty, demonic grin on his face. Had Robert somehow Photoshopped a selfie of his face and body into this catalogue to live out his twisted fantasies among this porno-utopia of upmarket sexually attractive nonhuman objects?
Howardโs conclusion was inescapable: Robert Shivers was not a normal pervert.
***
Sideling into his favorite Starbucks a few weeks later, Howard, still unsettled after his discoveries, almost spilled his latte as he absent-mindedly found a table, and fretted over this new information about Robert. Howard knew that he had to calm down, get beyond the shock of it all, and get focused on the business implications. It was a sick, cynical world, but one could find financial health, not to say happiness, in the problems of others. Now he had to just figure the angles.
How would he approach Robert about selling Robertโs bizarre personality to tabloid shows? With his vast marketing experience in the mass media Howard was sure he could help Robert – for a lucrative commission – to make high-level reality TV executive contacts, who would pay Robert handsomely for his completely unique story of a life spent sexually attracted to upscale furniture, kitchen appliances, and the national icon of America.
It was a delicate matter though as he did not want Robert to know that he had been rummaging through his personal papers. He needed his flunky friendโs good will, yet at the same time Howard had to figure out how to approach Robert about his weird desires without revealing how Howard discovered them – otherwise Robert could be open to a potential lawsuit for the violation of Robertโs privacy. (Howard, despite these sober concerns, smiled briefly when he thought of Robert being interviewed on TV about how he โdatesโ a toaster.)
A taunt, sinewy arm with blurred tattoos flipped over Howardโs shoulder like a large stiletto knife. Howardโ s eyes followed the arm up to a face stuffed full of jutting, stained teeth that had not seen a dental cleaning in years – nor a cosmetic surgical makeover: thin wrinkled lips carved into a stony face, wandering unfocused, washed-out bluish eyes, and a small patch of dry grey hair on an otherwise bald, skull-tight head. His ruddy facial skin was littered with large warts. Howard thought vaguely of a diseased tropical plant – or the face of the 1950s Yul Brynner but with a completely unknown, creeping skin condition.
The odd man suddenly yawned widely, sending waves of swampy bad breath into Howardโs face. Tearful, and almost gagging, Howard half whispered, half-choked, โWho are you?โ
Despite the grotesque appearance, the manโs voice was gentle. โIf you know this song then you know who I am.โ He began to sing slowly, hypnotically, as if he were crooning a seductive lullaby:
โPleased to meet you
Hope you guessed my name, oh yeah
But what’s confusing you
Is just the nature of my gameโฆ?โ
The manโs arm twisted slightly; a business card dropped into Howardโs lap as if it were a magic trick; glossy-lipstick-pink, spotted with little devil masks, the card was inscribed with black, very dramatic script:
โEdmund Lappeโ
Therapeutic Wizard
By Appointment Onlyโ
Edmund Lappeโ winked, then began softly crooning again:
โSo if you meet me
โHave some courtesy
Have some sympathy, and some taste
Use all your well-learned politesse
Or I’ll lay your soul to wasteโฆโ
Lappeโ then pointed his middle finger at Howardโs nose, as if the wizard were making an obscene gesture, and waved it. Howard felt his face drip heavily as if he were sweating a river; it was his flesh sliding off like chunks of melting snow, drenching his shirt cuffs.
โHellโs bells, I am melting like a goddam wax dummy in an oven!โ Howard whined. His Starbucks coffee mug, his laptop, and his too-tight undies then vanished, too. Howard and everything in his world had been vaporized. Edmund Lappeโ, his Satanic Majesty, a man of many faces and names, who enjoyed serenading the Damned with the Rolling Stonesโ 1968 smash hit, then called Robert Shivers to report the good news: that as per his agreement with Robert for a lucrative commission on Robertโs tabloid TV story profits, Lappeโ had eliminated the slimy Howard – who had inexcusably violated Robertโs privacy and failed to properly feed Blinky as instructed – from the face of the earth.ย ย ย ย
Thomas White has a triple identity: speculative fiction writer, poet, and essayist. His poems, fiction, and essays have appeared in online and print literary journals and magazines in Australia, the United States, Canada, and the United Kingdom. He is also a Wiley-Blackwell Journal author who has contributed essays to various nonliterary journals on topics ranging from atheism, the meaning of Evil, Elon Musk, Plato, The Matrix, and reality as a computer simulation. In addition, he has presented three of his essays to the West Chester University Poetry Conference (West Chester, Pennsylvania), as well as read his poetry on Australian radio.