A Visit From Mr. Spike by Jesse Lee

The young officer picked up a note written in green crayon off the kitchen table. He handed it to the detective.“Sir, looks like a page from the daughter’s diary, or something.”

The detective moved into a better light and read the words scrawled on the crumpled page…

Mr. Spike visits Daddy everyday to bring him candy, sometimes even two times a day. It’s my job to get him all full up with the candy before Daddy meets him. Mr. Spike sure is a funny lookin’ fella: he’s all thin and clear and made of plastic with a long silver nose which he uses to kiss Daddy with. He looks like that pin-pricker thing what the Doctor gives you when you a young’n so you don’t get sick. Sometimes when I push on him real hard he squirts his guts out his nose! But Daddy get awful angry if I do that before he meets him.

“Don’t you go short changin’ Daddy, little one.”

I didn’t hear Daddy’s voice no more after he told me that. He done took his candy what I gave him then went to sleep in his big ole’ chair like he always does. I think short changin’ means not skimpin’ on how much candy I give Mr. Spike. Last time I didn’t give him as much as he liked and he gave me a terrible bad beatin’! I couldn’t sit down for a week! My friends at school thought that was helluh funny! So tonight I made positive to give Mr. Spike more than what’s normal.

I use the spoon Daddy gives me to cook up his candy mostly, but tonight I though it was a right good idea to use that big spoon in the 2nd drawer – the one what Mamma used to use to mix up cakes before she went away. Daddy’s candy filled it up real nice like. He sure ain’t gonna hit me around tonight!

Slap! Slap! Slap! The mosquitoes were on Daddy’s arm again. Them little blood suckers are always on Daddy’s arm after I take Mr. Spike over to meet him. But he makes it better soon, they fly away and don’t bite his arm no more after he takes the candy out of Mr. Spike.

Anyways, tonight after Mr. Spike’s visit Daddy didn’t wake up. I had me a bad dream about monsters and tried to wake Daddy up to read me a happy story but he still sleepin’. Even a cup of cold water didn’t wake him up. I slapped him like Mamma used to but he didn’t move nothin’. No smelly air comin’ out his nose no more neither, and his belly don’t go in-out in-out none. Yep, I think Daddy done went to Jesus’ house now. That ain’t good coz Mamma gonna come home soon and see Daddy here sleepin’ again. I gotta hide Daddy and I gotta take Mr. Spike away too coz he still got his long pointy nose stuck in Daddy’s arm.

I tried pullin’ Daddy off the chair and rollin’ him up somewhere like under the table, but he love eatin’ them hamburgers too much and he too heavy to move! I had to make him small so I could carry him off somewhere. This one time we had a big ole’ tree in our backyard that Mamma wanted to use for firewood, she don’t like payin’ money for firewood, so to get it inside the house we had to cut it up into teensy little pieces. Sure was hard, all that cuttin’ and sawin’, but we had a terrible easy time movin’ it. I thought maybe I could pretend Daddy is like the tree and make him into small bits then hide him. Hot Damn!

Just like cuttin’ up a Christmas ham or that big Turkey bird we had at the church last Thanksgivin’. The knife goes in alright, just hard to take it out. Some of Daddy’s soft parts cut up real nice, and lots of strawberry jam come out and makes my hands real sticky! Daddy’s neck looked like a soda can that been shook up when I poked at it with the cutter. There was strawberry jam flyin’ all over the place and makin’ the walls all red’n black. Mamma ain’t gonna like that one bit!

Daddy spittin’ strawberry jam and makin’ my eyes sting so hard to keep writin’. Plus it tastes awful bad!

I took the big bits to the pig shack out back and put the small bits in the trash muncher in the kitchen sink. Them porkers eat any ole’ thing so they started to eat Daddy up real good, some even fightin’ over over the tasty pieces of Daddy’s belly. Theys always been greedy.

I best hide Mr. Spike in the pig shack too. If someone is readin’ this and you find Mr. Spike, tell him this from me: sorry Mr. Spike. Don’t feel bad. Daddy really likes you. Sometimes you make him mad but I know he ain’t really mad at you. It’s OK. He don’t get angry no more, coz now he’s dead.

The detective folded the page in half and made his way out to the pig pen.

Jesse Lee lives in Southern Osaka, Japan. Through his flash fiction tales, he teaches English to bemused natives. His work has featured on The Flash Fiction Offensive and Powder Burn Flash.

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