MonstrousMay 15. The Slime

“This stuff will clean literally anything,” Roger told his prospective new customers. The couple eyed him warily from their couch. Dinner was almost done and Roger knew his window was closing. He could hear the egg timer ticking away. “Have you got anything handy that could use a shine?” Roger asked. Flop sweat beaded his brow. He dabbed at it with his handkerchief and tried to smile. There were expensive things everywhere and Roger knew rich people were the worst about being cheap. He needed this sale. He was so hungry in so many different ways.

“Sure,” the husband said. Roger followed him out the back door and into the garage. “This damn oil stain has been here for years.” He pointed to a dark splotch on the concrete floor between two cars, which were all chrome and polish.

“Not a problem,” Roger said, kneeling down. He had no idea if it was going to be a problem or not. He’d never tried it on an oil stain. He opened his case and brought out a jar filled with something green and viscous. “Now you gotta be careful. You want to avoid it getting on your skin.” The contents of the jar burped as it slopped out onto the floor. “But it’s all natural. No harsh chemicals or fumes,” he added hastefully. “There’s even a lemony-fresh zest to it.” The tiniest hint of lemon floated into the air. He’d need to add more next time.

“You trying to sell me Jello?” the man asked and Roger laughed, maybe louder than he meant to.

Roger’s Spick and Span in a Can gurgled. It gleamed in the overhead light of the garage. Visible through its translucent green mass, the dark stain beneath it began to lighten. The oil was sucked up into the substance, turning it slightly darker. Roger smiled in relief. He set the jar down and scooped up the jiggling pile. It cooperated, sliding back in with a slurp. The floor was now literally spotless. “In trials we’ve gotten over 100 uses out of this same amount,” Roger said. There was no “we”, just him in his 5th floor walk-up. 

“I’ll be damned,” the man said. He squatted down to inspect where the stain had been and whistled. He said he would take a can. Roger handed him the jar. “Thought it was a can,” the man said. 

“Patent pending,” Roger said. “We aren’t in mass production yet. But you’re getting in on the ground floor, you understand.”  The man stood and peeled off a few dollars from a wad in his pocket. Roger took it and immediately put it into his case, snapping the clasps shut. He put his hat back on, lifting it to say goodbye.

“Hey, mister. If we want more when we run out, how do we get ahold of you?” the man called out as Roger walked away.

“I’ll stop by soon and check how it’s working for you. Money back guarantee!” Roger said. He wanted to smack himself. He had to stop saying that to people. “I’ll get out of your hair,” Roger said, “enjoy your dinner.”

Before the man could say anything else, Roger let himself out of the garden gate and was hustling down the street. It was warm and his suit was starting to show pit stains. He pulled the handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his forehead clean again. He’d need to get home ASAP. 

A few minutes later, Roger burst into his apartment, tugging off his clothes. Thejingle of his belt buckle rattled about the mostly empty apartment. He tossed the clothes onto the floor and spread them out. “Dammit,” he said. His undershirt was ruined. The fabric at the armpits had been eaten away, along with a long streak up the back. His underwear were similarly disintegrated. He tugged the tattered remains of his handkerchief out of a pocket. Laying it flat, it looked like a paper snowflake. The collared shirt and suit seemed to be okay, if not a little threadbare. 

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The summer was always the worst for his condition. If he wasn’t careful, he’d be spending all his money on clothes and handkerchiefs. His stomach growled. Not yet, he thought. He collected the eaten up clothes and took them to the bedroom. He held them over a metal pail and wrung them out. Drops of sweat panged into the bottom of the pail like rain on a tin roof.

There were a few jars of completed solution on his desk. Just a little bit longer and he’d have another. He added a bit of green food coloring to a full jar that had congealed into a clear jelly while he was out. He poured in some lemon juice, then added a little more. He sealed it shut and shook it up. And there it was, more Spick and Span in a Can (Jar). He gathered up the finished jars and placed them into the kitchen fridge with the others. The shelves inside were barren otherwise. His stomach growled again and he patted it. “Not much longer now,” he said to it and he prayed that was true.

Roger laid on his rubber-sheeted bed and sighed. He had sold a few jars today. With any luck they’d be ready to collect soon. Roger thought of all his failed attempts at keeping a job. He hadn't even tried to keep a relationship. In both cases, he couldn't keep his secret forever.

This line of thinking made him depressed and listless so he got up, flipped on the TV and sat in his single wooden chair. It wasn’t very comfortable, but a couch would be pointless. He’d eat through it in a week. At least with wood it took a lot longer.

Dozing off, he felt something tug at him. He jumped up and got dressed. The night had cooled off a little, but he tried not to hurry, not make any more sweat than he needed to. As he made his way closer to the source, he realized it was the last house he visited. They must have really gone wild with the Spick and Span in a Can.

Making sure the coast was clear, Roger let himself into the gate and found the backdoor unlocked. The TV was playing a western, cowboys hooting, hollering, and shooting into the air. What was left of the husband and wife sat on the couch in the dark, bathed in the TVs glow, trays in front of them. The plates, and their bones, were licked clean. 

Roger sat down between them and watched their enormous TV for a while. He would love to have it, but knew it would be too heavy. He’d need to take only what he could carry. Their jewelry, maybe silver if they had any. But Roger was getting too hungry to think about how much he might get for what. That was a something to do on a full stomach. He should have time, he thought. It was a long ways to dawn and nosy neighbors.

The Spick and Span had pooled at the couple’s  feet, patiently gnawing away at the carpet, having a hard time with their shoes. His stomach started to gnaw at him as well. Roger moved the trays out of the way. He knelt down onto his hands and knees. He lowered his face down to the puddle and it reacted, reaching up to him with tiny tendrils. He sucked up chunks of the stuff. He chewed it slowly before swallowing it down. 

He tasted the husband and wife. Her perfume, his aftershave. The fabrics they wore and the meat they carried. Roger hummed contently as he let the goo slide into his stomach. The lemon really did add a nice kick.