Dor and Dad sat on a couple of computer chairs, passing their joint back and forth. Uncle Ron crossed his arms and let those two do their thing. The big guy’s face puffed, boiling over with questions, but he'd known Dad long enough to know better than to interrupt. Dad’s hands lost some of their shake and Dor eased into a gentle bliss. The smoke veiled the negativity on his mind, helping him process how to approach the confrontation about to happen.

His heart beat to the tune of a cheesy techno-rock song from the 90’s. Guitar riffs blared through his mind, Dor tapped his foot, leaned back, and mused. “When worlds collide…”

Dad puffed out a cloud. “More like Warren Zevon, eh son?”

“Did he steal that riff?” Dor asked.

“From Sweet Home Alabama? Nah, man,” his old man replied. “I hear it was some kind of old folk tune or something. Zevon and Van Grant and his boys just made it their own, you know? Zevon had Werewolves of London, and Skynyrd had Sweet Home.”

“Skynyrd did it better,” Dor said.

“Got that right. If ya listen close, man, ol’ Eddie King never repeated the same riff the entire song. Tweaked it a bit each time.”

Dor nodded along. Dad always knew how to distract him from his troubles. The old man’s the best. Uncle Ron, on the other hand, looked ready to explode. That big man did not like to be left out of the loop, and it seemed he figured Dor and his dad were keeping a secret. He was right.

One more puff, the veil thickened, and Dor began his explanation. “I met a kid, he dropped off a monster, and she lives in Lulu’s old room now.”

Satisfied, he took another hit and handed it back to Dad. Dad smiled. “Good job, son.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

That was easy. I told Uncle Ron everything, the world didn’t implode, and I feel pretty good about it. Thanks, Dad. I’m always making an ant out a molehill, or a gnat out of a mountain or whatever.

“You ever hear that Zevon and Stevie Knicks were roommates?” Dor asked his dad.

“No shit? Were those two an item?”

“Nah, I think she was with Buckingham or they all three lived together or something. Heck, they might’ve even all been screwing in a pile.”

Dad nodded along. “Ya them boys was crazy back then. You know, one time at a show I seen Buckingham—”

“You boys done?” Uncle Ron interrupted.

The cut-screens of death flashed across his stoic face and he was getting madder by the second. They could all still hear the snaps and crunches from the kitchen, but the monster stayed out of their hair for now. If only Uncle Ron wasn’t killing their buzz, things would be alright right now.

Dor inspected the joint. “Three more rounds.”

Dad agreed. “Yeah, ‘bout that.”

“I don’t give a shit,” Uncle Ron said. “You two is hiding something and that ain’t no good. No good at all, especially with my Lulu missing. Now you say you rented out her room?”

Why’s he care? Ain’t like Lulu’s around to complain or nothing. Dor shook his head. “She’s a moocher. That monster don’t pay no rent.”

He thought a second and added, “but she did really save my ass. So she’s not a bad monster, just a dangerous one. I puked all over Claire’s room, so that was no good. Jimmy and Donny’s room is a mess, so theirs is no good either. And mine…well, it got disqualified right at the start. It’s filthy in there. That’s why the monster lives in Lulu’s room.”

Exasperated, Uncle Ron stood up to walk back to the kitchen. Seemed he was bound and determined to get himself ripped to shreds. He gnawed at his gums, mumbling under his breath all the while.

After his old man’s help, Dor was too chill to stand in the big man’s way this time. Let him be. He’ll figure it out. But just to be safe, Dor hollered a warning. “Remember that cast iron tub upstairs? See, the monster took a shower and got shampoo in her eyes.”

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

Dor shrugged. “It happens. But she totally freaked out. Cut clean through the tub with her claws, four big gashes, just like butter. Don’t go schmoozing up to her. Think of what she’d do to your gut by mistake.”

Did I say something wrong? The joint fell out of Dad’s mouth and Uncle Ron’s jaw hit the floor.

“You fucking fry your brain, son?” Uncle Ron asked.

Dor pointed to the stairs. “Go up there and look for yourself. I can’t stop ya. Best wait til she’s done eating, though. Might accidentally mistake your toes for a treat.”

Dad leaned in close. “That true?”

“Yeah, I’m mostly sure she don’t mean no harm, but that don’t mean she doesn’t cause any. Gotta be real strict with her. Like ‘ha!’ and ‘ack!’, see?” Dor chopped his arms in the air to emphasize his point. Dad had the best weed.

“Christ…” Dad scratched his arm and whispered, “we gotta get you outa here.”

“No can do,” Dor said. “Me and her we’re starting to figure each other out. If you go in there and ask about arts and crafts, she’ll talk your ear off. Her parents dropped her off with an activity bag, and then went out for a pack of smokes or something. That’s why if I keep at, we’ll be able to find Lulu.”

That last line got Uncle Ron’s attention. “The fuck’s your roommate got to do with my Lulu?”

Dor picked the joint off the floor, eased back, and took another drag. “Ah, that’s because the monster showed up right after Lulu disappeared. Somehow, the game’s at fault, too. I think if I said ‘yes’ I’d have disappeared along with the rest of them.”

“Said yes to what?”

“The prompt. I got out of jail and there was a prompt asking me about future adventures and to take some dude’s name. I said no, but I think everybody else said yes. It’s all a coincidence, man, but it’s also not, you see?”

“No I don’t fucking see!”

“That’s 'cause you’re all worked up.”

Turned out, that was exactly the wrong thing to say. Uncle Ron barged over, throwing every pound of his weight around. Dad tried to stand in his way, but Uncle Ron knocked him over. He grabbed Dor by the scruff of his neck, reached back like he was going to throw a swing, and spat every one of his next words. “You tell me what you’re hiding, boy. You been hiding my Lulu? Huh? You been hiding my Lulu?”

Just as Dor opened his mouth to tell Uncle Ron to chill out, a snake wrapped around Uncle Ron’s chest. He whipped around and threw his fist right into the monster standing behind him. Dor heard a pop, and then Uncle Ron screamed in pain, studying his hand in horror.

The veil lifted and Dor snapped out of his daze. The monster just attacked Uncle Ron. Dad was about to run over and save his buddy, but Dor jumped up and body-checked his old man out of the way. Last thing he wanted was for Dad to get hurt. So far, the monster only held Uncle Ron with her tail. Seemed he broke his hand on her face, not that she seemed to notice.

“Drop him!” Dor yelled. “I said drop him!”

From underneath her Peter Rabbit comforter, she shook her head.

“The fuck is wrong with you?” He asked. “We just had this talk. You’re not people! You are a beast. Mind what you are and put him down!”

He heard her mumble but didn’t pay it any attention. “Put my Uncle Ron down! You already fucked up his hand. Did you mean to do that?”

She shook her head.

“But you did.” Of course, he was completely ignoring the fact that Uncle Ron was the one who’d punched her, but that was beside the point.

“Put my Uncle Ron down, or I’m done with you,” Dor said. “If you can’t be trusted, I’ll fucking leave you here all alone. Good luck trying to find someone else in this shithole of a city to take care of a monster like you.”

“…don’t.” He heard her this time.

“I will.”

“Don’t,” she said.

“Then get your shit together,” he said, fully aware of the irony of his command.

Her tail loosened and Uncle Ron scrambled away, a familiar scene for Dor. Dor pointed to the chair next to him. “Sit,” he commanded her. “And put that fucking tail away before you eat an eye out.”

The slender centipede tucked inside the blanket, presumably wrapping around her waist, and she sat down next to Dor’s chair. She pulled her knees up tight to her chest, humming and rocking back and forth. Such a pathetic, dangerous beast…fucking Uncle Ron, that moron.

Dad and Uncle Ron were eyeing the monster warily while checking Uncle Ron’s hand for damage. His pinky hung limp, but it seemed nothing too major. Dor breathed a sigh of relief and without thinking, pat the monster on the head. She leaned into the affection and he snapped his hand back. Fuck me. Don’t encourage it.

“You alright, Uncle Ron?” Dor asked.

Uncle Ron winced. “Fuck…fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“You said it, man.” Dad patted him on the back.

“I told ya, but you was asking for it,” Dor said. “Who punches a monster in the face?”

The tension of that situation melted away and Dad couldn’t contain himself, he burst out laughing. He laughed so hard, tears came out his eyes. “Ronnie!” Dad said. “Ronnie punches a monster in the face, that’s who!”

Even Uncle Ron couldn’t help himself. He laughed in spite of the pain of a busted pinky. He laughed and laughed and laughed. Somewhere along the lines, his laughter transitioned to tears, and he slumped down on the floor. That big man started bawling like a baby. The monster tried to get up, likely to comfort Uncle Ron in her own way, but Dor patted her head again. It seemed he found another method to control the beast. She leaned into his affection and stayed seated.

“Don’t you move,” Dor instructed.

She didn’t respond.

“What’s wrong with you?” He asked. “Why can’t you just respond normally? I can’t trust you.”

“Scrub-bucket’s going to come back,” she said.

“I don’t know who that is, but you don’t move. We’ll talk about your scrub-bucket later.”

She nodded.

While Dad comforted his bawling friend, Dor went into the kitchen to grab a handle of whiskey and three glasses. It seemed he’d need to teach a couple more people how to cope with his world. They could have a good laugh, a good cry, and then figure out what to do from there. That’s right. It's 'we' now. We can figure out what to do, now.