middle finger an pointer a my right hand cause I tried to eat dem.
Kid you not, man. I been goin a little squirrelly here. I mean, da otha night I really tought dose fingers was hot dogs. S’true. Jus like I tought my sheet was a big lasagne noodle an my pillow was a giant marshmallow, I coulda sworn dat night my two fingers was hot dogs. It was dark. I started chewin on dem an screamin at da same time. Da docs said I was hallucinatin. Closed me up wit ten stitches. Now dey keep my hands tied down so’s I don’t do it again.
Dey shouldn’t worry. I won’t. It hurt too much.
“ Gimme a candy first,” I tell her.
“ No,” Dolores says. “After, Topsy. After .”
“ Okay,” I say. But I don’t really mean it.
When she unstraps my right wrist, I roll left, like I’m lettin her wash da part of my back she can reach. But while I’m twisted dat way, I work on da left strap an get it undone. Now I’m ready.
“ Okay, Topsy,” she says. “Roll back now.”
I roll. An keep on rollin. As I rock to da right, I grab Delores.
“ Candy!” I shout. “Gimme! Now !”
Delores squeals an twists away. She’s strong but I got a good grip on her. She pulls away but I stretch after her. Her feet slip an she goes down but I lean over da edge of da bed, keepin my grip, never lettin go, reachin wit my free hand for da pocket wit da caramels.
But suddenly I feel myself slippin. I mean da bed’s tiltin, da whole freakin hospital bed’s tippin ova wit me on it. An I’m headin right down on toppa Delores. I try to stop myself but I can’t. Da bed’s tilted too far. I’m outta control. I’m fallin. Dolores screams as I land on her.
It ain’t a long scream. More like a quick little yelp, like your pooch makes when you accidently step on its foot. Den she cuts off.
But she don’t stop movin. She’s strugglin an kickin an clawin unda me, tryna get out, tryna breathe. An I’m tryna get offa her, really an truly I am, but it’s so hard. Finally I edge myself back an to da side. It’s slow work, but finally I get offa her face.
Too late. Poor Delores has stopped strugglin by den. An when I manage to get a look at her face, it’s kinda blue. Real blue, in fact. I mean, like she’s sorta dead.
I like start ta cry. I can’t help it. I loved Delores an now she’s gone. I specially loved her caramels.
Which reminds me of her goody pocket. So while I’m cryin, I reach for her pocket. I push my hand inside but I can’t find no caramels. Not a one.
No way, man! I know dere’s candy in dere!
I push deeper inta da pocket but it’s empty, man! Freakin empty !
I’m kinda upset now. I pull on da pocket. I mean, I know dere’s candy in dere. Da pocket rips an still no caramels. I rip deepa, layer afta layer till I reach...
...skin.
Smooth white skin. It’s a leg. Turkey leg. Big white meat turkey leg. Never heard of such a ting, but here it is right in fronta me. Waitin for me. An I can’t resist. I take a bite—
Gaa! Ain’t cooked. Raw an bloody. God, I’m freakin hungry but I can’t eat raw turkey!
I look up an around. Da utility room is only a dozen or so feet away. If I can make it to da microwave...
Back to TOC
Between “Topsy” and Stephen King’s “Survivor Type”, I blithely assumed that nothing more horrific could be written on the subject of eating disorders. Was I ever wrong. When Lee sent me this story from Scott Goriscak (the author of ‘ Home Sweet Home ’ from the first MASTERS OF HORROR anthology), I wrote back: Oh. My. God.
Fair warning: if you’ve just now finished a decent meal, skip ahead to one of the other stories before reading…
EASY TO DIGEST
By Scott M. Goriscak
Jake wasn’t the best looking guy in school: he was tall, gaunt, and pale but he could always be found in the middle of a crowded room
Kid you not, man. I been goin a little squirrelly here. I mean, da otha night I really tought dose fingers was hot dogs. S’true. Jus like I tought my sheet was a big lasagne noodle an my pillow was a giant marshmallow, I coulda sworn dat night my two fingers was hot dogs. It was dark. I started chewin on dem an screamin at da same time. Da docs said I was hallucinatin. Closed me up wit ten stitches. Now dey keep my hands tied down so’s I don’t do it again.
Dey shouldn’t worry. I won’t. It hurt too much.
“ Gimme a candy first,” I tell her.
“ No,” Dolores says. “After, Topsy. After .”
“ Okay,” I say. But I don’t really mean it.
When she unstraps my right wrist, I roll left, like I’m lettin her wash da part of my back she can reach. But while I’m twisted dat way, I work on da left strap an get it undone. Now I’m ready.
“ Okay, Topsy,” she says. “Roll back now.”
I roll. An keep on rollin. As I rock to da right, I grab Delores.
“ Candy!” I shout. “Gimme! Now !”
Delores squeals an twists away. She’s strong but I got a good grip on her. She pulls away but I stretch after her. Her feet slip an she goes down but I lean over da edge of da bed, keepin my grip, never lettin go, reachin wit my free hand for da pocket wit da caramels.
But suddenly I feel myself slippin. I mean da bed’s tiltin, da whole freakin hospital bed’s tippin ova wit me on it. An I’m headin right down on toppa Delores. I try to stop myself but I can’t. Da bed’s tilted too far. I’m outta control. I’m fallin. Dolores screams as I land on her.
It ain’t a long scream. More like a quick little yelp, like your pooch makes when you accidently step on its foot. Den she cuts off.
But she don’t stop movin. She’s strugglin an kickin an clawin unda me, tryna get out, tryna breathe. An I’m tryna get offa her, really an truly I am, but it’s so hard. Finally I edge myself back an to da side. It’s slow work, but finally I get offa her face.
Too late. Poor Delores has stopped strugglin by den. An when I manage to get a look at her face, it’s kinda blue. Real blue, in fact. I mean, like she’s sorta dead.
I like start ta cry. I can’t help it. I loved Delores an now she’s gone. I specially loved her caramels.
Which reminds me of her goody pocket. So while I’m cryin, I reach for her pocket. I push my hand inside but I can’t find no caramels. Not a one.
No way, man! I know dere’s candy in dere!
I push deeper inta da pocket but it’s empty, man! Freakin empty !
I’m kinda upset now. I pull on da pocket. I mean, I know dere’s candy in dere. Da pocket rips an still no caramels. I rip deepa, layer afta layer till I reach...
...skin.
Smooth white skin. It’s a leg. Turkey leg. Big white meat turkey leg. Never heard of such a ting, but here it is right in fronta me. Waitin for me. An I can’t resist. I take a bite—
Gaa! Ain’t cooked. Raw an bloody. God, I’m freakin hungry but I can’t eat raw turkey!
I look up an around. Da utility room is only a dozen or so feet away. If I can make it to da microwave...
Back to TOC
Between “Topsy” and Stephen King’s “Survivor Type”, I blithely assumed that nothing more horrific could be written on the subject of eating disorders. Was I ever wrong. When Lee sent me this story from Scott Goriscak (the author of ‘ Home Sweet Home ’ from the first MASTERS OF HORROR anthology), I wrote back: Oh. My. God.
Fair warning: if you’ve just now finished a decent meal, skip ahead to one of the other stories before reading…
EASY TO DIGEST
By Scott M. Goriscak
Jake wasn’t the best looking guy in school: he was tall, gaunt, and pale but he could always be found in the middle of a crowded room
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