A black-light octopus poster squirmed on the wall. It twisted and distorted like one of those bad motion- imitation pictures won as Cracker Jack prizes. And West’s couch swayed as if on board a boat, even though all the other furniture stayed put.
Yet the weirdness of this apartment was somehow less foreign and unsettling than the real world (whatever that meant) outside this building’s front door.
“What’s in the package?” she asked.
“There’s nothing in the package, Number Five.”
West jumped to his feet and marched forward.
“There’s nothing in any of the packages if they know what’s good for them.”
Most of the boxes hopped deeper into the shelf recesses. One leaned forward, challenging West.
“Oh, someone’s got an attitude, does he?” West’s voice rose. Not much. But enough to be noticed, which in itself was surprising enough to unsettle Diana. “Someone thinks he’s too good for the shelf, does he?”
The package growled.
“You’ll stay formless, and you’ll like it,” said West. “Just remember that once you take on flesh, it means you’ll have an ass for me to kick.”
West stared down the package.
“Well, I can see you’re b,” said Diana. “I’ll just leave you to… uh… taunt the boxes.”
She was a few steps out of the apartment and down the hall when West spoke up.
“It will get easier,” said West.
His face, covered by hair, was as unreadable as his voice, but she thought she saw his thick mustache twitch with the traces of a smile.
“The period of adjustment varies from individual to individual,” he said, “but it always gets better. One way or another.”
“One way or another?”
“Oh, you know. Crossword puzzles. Pornography. Video games. Knitting. Madness. Death. We all find a way of coping, Number Five.”
His dark eyes focused on a point on a distant horizon. He chuckled through a tight, closed mouth. Then an awkward silence, at least as far as Diana was concerned, passed between them. She suspected West didn’t even notice.
“Uh… thanks,” she said.
Something crashed inside his apartment. Grumbling, he went back to deal with the problem. She hoped Barcelona or Paris or whatever else would be okay, but it wasn’t her problem anymore. Her problem was waiting in her apartment.
And he was not alone.
Vom the Hungering sat on the sofa. The green-furred monster had something stuck in his mouth. His cheek bulged. She wondered if it was a whole pig or a small child and decided she’d rather not know.
The giant rubber hedgehog hunched beside the coffee table.
“I know I saw it go under here,” he said. “I think it ran into the kitchen,” said Vom. “Oh, hey, Diana.” He grinned. Glimpses of red velvet showed between his sharp teeth. He spit out the sofa pillow he’d been sucking on like an industrial-sized Life Saver.
“Sorry. Helps to keep my mind off my eating disorder.”
He returned the saliva-coated pillow to its spot on the couch.
“One day at a time and all that,” said Vom.
She was annoyed, but only for a moment. Having Vom devour pillows was preferable to anything else that came to mind. She could’ve lived without his slimy drool soaking into the upholstery, but it wasn’t her couch.
The hedgehog stood. He held a miniature version of himself in one hand.
“Oh, hello,” said the monster to Diana.
“Diana, this is Unending Smorgaz,” said Vom.
“Hi,” she said.
“Do you want to take care of this for me, Vom?” Smorgaz threw his miniature to Vom, who snapped it down in a single bite. “Thanks.”
“No problem.”
Diana wanted to sit down but didn’t want to sit next to Vom and his indiscriminate jaws. The air shimmered, and a recliner materialized beside her. She wasn’t sure if she had caused it or if the apartment itself had created the chair, but it seemed a moot point. She plopped into the recliner.
“Smorgaz, could you excuse us a moment?” she asked. “I need to talk to Vom.”
“Say no more. Think I’ll go for a walk. Anyone want anything while I’m out?”
“Could you bring back a few dozen pizzas?” asked Vom. Diana could’ve probably wished for pizzas, but eating magical pizzas conjured up from the nethersphere didn’t sound very appetizing.
“Sure thing. Do you want the pizza delivery guy too?”
Vom’s stomach growled. Literally, the mouth on his gut grumbled, licking its lips.
“No pizza delivery guys,” said Diana. “Or gals. Or puppies or kittens or anything like that.”
Vom frowned. “Can we at least get sausage on the pizzas?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, a dozen sausage pizzas coming up.” Smorgaz trundled out the door, but she stopped him.
“Do you have any money?”
“No.”
“How do you intend to pay?”
“Pay?” Smorgaz tilted his head at an angle and a most curious expression crossed his face. “I’m sorry, but I don’t understand the question.”
“You have to pay for them somehow.”
“I do?”
Unending Smorgaz glanced at Vom, who shrugged.
“She’s unconventional.”
Diana contemplated how Smorgaz planned on securing those pizzas, but, of course, he was a monster. Monsters didn’t carry cash. They just took what they wanted without thought for the consequences. That wouldn’t do. She couldn’t unleash a beast into the streets to terrorize every pizza delivery vehicle he stumbled across.
She pulled some cash out of her wallet and handed it to Smorgaz. “Just seven blocks south, on the Corner of O’Brian and Swaim, there’s a little shop that sells two medium cheese pizzas for a good price.”
“Only two?” whined Vom. “And what about the sausage?”
“Fine.” She gave Smorgaz another few dollars and some change to cover tax.
“What about garlic bread?”
Se opened her wallet to let Vom see how empty it was. He slouched and stuffed the pillow back into his mouth with a pout.
Smorgaz left.
While she organized her thoughts, Vom noisily chewed like a petulant three-year-old.
“Pork is meat,” he grumbled.
“Yes, it is.”
“Puppies are meat,” he said.
“You’re not eating puppies. Not while I’m around.”
“Have you ever eaten a puppy? They’re delicious.”
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t everything delicious to you?”
“I don’t care for broccoli,” he replied.
She stared at him skeptically.
“Just because I’ll eat it doesn’t mean I like it.” He leaned forward. “Anyway, when you get right down to it, everything in this universe is just a handful of atoms arranged in peculiar ways. Puppies aren’t different than pigs, carbon and nitrogen. It seems unfair to just eat one because of your own arbitrary cultural standards of acceptability.”
“Arbitrary, yes,” she agreed. “But it doesn’t change anything.”
