Horror Island

by Jim Stenstrum

  Goldfarb lowered his glasses and peered up at Rex.

  “You’re not Fritz. You’re not our hunchback.”

  “My name is Rex. The previous assistant met with a fatal accident. Did nobody tell you?”

  Goldfarb took several seconds to reply, rummaging through his brain for faded memories. At last he said:

  “Maybe. I’m not sure. I have trouble… remembering things sometimes.”

  “Well, let me help you then. Give me something to do, Doc.”

  “Splendid. Splendid. You can feed Fugly.”

  “Feed who?”

  The creature made of assholes and elbows rolled up like a grotesque beach ball and farted hello.

  “This is Fugly. Isn’t he the cutest little fellow? I created him myself from leftovers I found in the lab.”

  Rex stared at it, trying to make sense of its anatomy.

  “Umm, what does it eat? How does it eat?”

  “Well, it’s tricky. He has forty sphincters and one mouth.”

  He handed Rex a turkey baster filled with an unappetizing gray paste.

  “When you find his mouth, squirt this mixture of protein and vitamins into it. Make sure it’s his mouth, though. He gets really annoyed if you feed the wrong opening.”

  Goldfarb turned and started to walk away.

  “Wait a minute. Where are you going?” asked Rex, visibly flustered.

  “I’m having tea, of course. It’s tea time. I’m not a barbarian, for god’s sake.”

  As Goldfarb walked toward the break room, Rex turned back to the creature, which was making a sound like purring and farting through a harmonica at the same time. He knelt close to the creature and moved in with the turkey baster.

  “Okay, pal. Here we go.”

  Fugly squealed. Rex quickly pulled back the baster.

  “Oops, sorry. How about this one?”

  He tried another orifice and it squealed again.

  “Sorry.”

  Rex continued this routine several more times before he found the creature’s gullet and it happily downed the baster full of gray goo. When it finished swallowing the meal, Rex located a red Magic Marker and drew a circle around the creature’s mouth for future reference.

  Chapter 6

  “I’ve Done Some Terrible Things.”

  Over the next couple days, Rex split his time helping out a number of the scientists. He emptied trash, made coffee, turned control knobs on scary electrical machinery, and occasionally commented on some of the scientists’ zany ideas.

  He even allowed himself to be experimented on, until by accident one of Dr. Clokey’s crazy inventions turned Rex’s arm into clay. The clay arm proved to be unstable and quickly returned to normal, but after that Rex refused to stand in front of any high energy beams or step inside any unfamiliar machines.

  Oddly, weirdly, Rex was growing to like most of these guys. He enjoyed chatting with a lot of the older scientists, who were more than happy to boast of their nefarious achievements.

  He also saw that many of these scientists were downright scared—terrified that the Count would not approve of their research. Rex did his best to cheer up the men, regardless of how truly insane some of their ideas seemed to him.

  “Do you really like it, hunchback?” asked Doctor X about a machine he was building that would drown the world in ginger beer. “Do you think the Count will like it, too?”

  “It’s inspired, Doc,” Rex said. “Mankind will curse the name of Doctor X forever.”

  The doctor’s chest swelled with pride; he was nearly brought to tears by Rex’s kind words.

  Yet, a handful of the scientists were insufferable egomaniacs. The worst of them—the absolute emperor of assholes in Rex’s estimation—was the Insidious Dr. Klaw Fang, who seemed less interested in the hard work of creating world-wrecking inventions and more about simple sadism and torture.

  At breakfast one day, Rex caught Klaw Fang kicking Fugly around and he knocked the pompous bastard on his butt. This infraction cost Rex several thousand volts of searing pain delivered straight to his throat, but it was worth it.

  During this period, in his private laboratory, Dr. Montgomery kept his promise and dedicated much of his time to curing Rex of his dimensional drifting. The treatments required high doses of dangerous drugs and gamma radiation, and Rex frequently checked his skin to make sure he was not turning green.

  “That should do it, Rex,” said Montgomery, injecting him with a final round of the powerful anti-dimensionality drug, Multisyllablium. “From now on, you’re stuck in the third dimension with the rest of us schmucks. How do you feel?”

  Thomp unbuckled Rex from the operating table and he sat up. He patted his face and chest, which seemed solid enough, although every muscle in his body ached.

  “I’m good, Doc,” said Rex. “I’m going to miss being able to walk through walls, but at least I won’t have to worry about getting stuck on the toilet anymore.”

  Montgomery looked at the ceiling cameras that were following their every move in the laboratory. He gave a signal to Thomp, who then plodded to the other side of the room and stumbled into a bank of computers, creating a lot of noise. Every overhead camera turned at once to focus on the commotion.

  During this distraction, Montgomery leaned close to Rex and spoke to him urgently.

  “The Pitch is coming up soon, Rex. In a couple days another one of us will become dog food for Czarina’s pets. We need to consider plans to get rid of the Count and his daughter. Time is running out.”

  Rex seemed unconcerned.

  “I don’t make plans,” he said. “I just hit things. When I hit enough of them, the problem usually solves itself.” He pulled on his collar. “Things would go a lot easier if I could get this damn collar off, though.”

  “Can’t help you there, I’m afraid. There are only two occasions when that collar is ever removed. One, when you’re dead…”

  “I’m going to opt out of that one,” said Rex.

  “And the other is… when you ‘Dance with the Devil.’”

  Rex furrowed his brow. After a few seconds he said:

  “Guess I’m going to learn how to dance.”

  The next day, Dr. Goldfarb was eager to show Rex his latest invention. He rolled out a female mannequin from behind a screen and pulled off the covering.

  “What do you think?” asked the doctor.

  Rex seemed confused. “It’s a mannequin in a bathing suit.”

  “It’s a bikini bomb. You wear it to the beach and the heat of the sun will cause it to explode. Isn’t it delicious?”

  Rex looked puzzled.

  “Um, sure, Doc. But didn’t you already do something like this back in 1965?”

  “Did I? Oh dear, that’s not good.”

  Goldfarb slumped into a chair and held his head in his hands.

  “I’m afraid I’m just not as diabolical as I used to be. I don’t think I can do this mad scientist thing anymore.”

  “Hell, Doc, you’re just having a slump. You’ll get your mojo back.”

  “No, Rex. I’m done. I have nothing more to offer.”

  Rex sat next to him, putting a hand on the old man’s shoulder.

  “I’ve done some terrible things in my life,” said Goldfarb. “I’ve robbed banks; I’ve extorted entire nations with my inventions. Maybe after all these years this is my long overdue punishment.”

  “Come on, Doc. I bet you have a shitload of diabolical ideas tucked away in your files.”

  The old man stared at the floor, seemingly inconsolable.

  “I’ve wasted my life, Rex. I’m a very bad man.”

  After a few moments, Goldfarb got to his feet.

  “I’m going for some tea. Care to join me?”

  “Maybe in a bit,” said Rex. “I want to clean up around here first.”

  Goldfarb headed toward the break room. Once the doctor was out of sight, Rex went to Goldfarb’s file cabinet and pulled out several of his research files. He was looking
for any ideas the doctor may have overlooked or forgotten—some nugget of mad genius that could wow the Count at the pitch meeting tomorrow.

  Most of the files contained designs on bikini bombs and gold-plated robotic girls, variations on the same inventions that made Goldfarb a world class criminal back in the sixties. But there was nothing new or worthwhile here.

  Rex found other designs for killer kittens and giant robots as big as the moon, which held some promise, and he put these files aside.

  But then he discovered some designs that made him sick to his stomach. Drawings of monsters wearing guard uniforms, and sketches of some especially lethal creatures he saw in a file marked “Dance with the Devil,” which included photos of Countess Czarina in her hunting outfit and holding a crossbow.

  Rex was stunned. Goldfarb had created the very monsters that guarded the island today, including the turbo-charged killing machines the Countess used as her hunter beasts.

  What Goldfarb said was true.

  He had wasted his life.

  He was a very bad man.

  Rex left the file on moon-sized robots on the table for Goldfarb to find and returned the other files to the cabinet.

  Then he went to the restroom to throw up.

  * * *

  The following day, Crayon wailed to the heavens.

  “Omigod, I’m going insane with boredom! It’s been two weeks and still no word from Rex.”

  She was sitting on the couch in Rex’s apartment, flipping through the TV channels with the remote.

  “All Rex has are stupid monster movies on his DVR. Can’t we go to the beach or something?”

  “Go anywhere you like,” said Dementia, sitting across from her in a chair. “I’m going to wait here for Rex to call.”

  Dementia put down an old book she was reading on the Salem Witch Trials. The book, over 300 years old, had mentioned Dementia several times by name, describing her as “Satan’s Tart” and accusing her personally for the outbreak of witchcraft in the Colonies. (This was utter nonsense, of course, except for the “Satan’s Tart” stuff.)

  Hopping off the couch, Crayon walked over to the answering machine for the fifth time that day, shaking it to see if the darn thing was still working properly. She turned back to Dementia.

  “You know, Dem, you don’t have to hang out here. Don’t you have to get back to Canada? Aren’t you some kind of big shot in that space zombie club?”

  “It’s called The Colony. And I’m not a space zombie. I told you that.”

  “Right. Sorry.”

  “And I’m not leaving until we find out what happened to Rex.”

  Crayon sighed. “Okay. So what do you want to do now?”

  Dementia stood up and surveyed the landfill that was Rex’s apartment. She walked over to one of the bookcases and pulled out a dirty coffee mug that said “World’s Best Monster Killer” that was crammed between an alien-looking skull and a book on exorcism. She turned the cup over and an eyeball fell out of it.

  “Listen, kiddo, we need a serious distraction. What do you say we clean up this pigsty and surprise Rex?”

  “Cool. But what if we find, you know, like a dead body in this mess?”

  “I’m guessing a dead body is the least disturbing thing we’re likely to find in this toxic waste dump.”

  “Sounds good,” said Crayon. “Where do we start?”

  “Well, if it’s dusty, dust it. If it stinks, throw it out. If it moves, kill it.”

  * * *

  Meanwhile, on Horror Island, Rex grabbed a tray in the commissary and got into line with several of the scientists for the noon meal. The food was actually pretty good here—the Count made certain that all the scientists were kept well-fed and docile—and the menu offered tasty items like Crab Nebula Salad, Large Hadron Sliders and Tesseract Tacos. Rex settled on a Dark Matter Sandwich and a cup of Primordial Soup.

  A beautiful woman behind the counter cheerfully loaded up his tray. She seemed human, more or less, except for her peculiar shiny red skin. She smiled at Rex and slipped him an extra Pillars of Creation Pudding.

  He carried his tray across the room and joined Goldfarb and Montgomery at one of the tables.

  “How’s it going today, guys?” Rex said cheerfully. “Ready for the big pitch this afternoon?”

  Montgomery wiped his mouth with a napkin.

  “As one of the overseers, I’ll be on stage and not required to pitch. But a lot of these guys have been burning the midnight oil to get ready.”

  Rex looked at Goldfarb.

  “How about you, Doc? Get any crazy new ideas since last night?”

  Goldfarb seemed not to hear him. Instead he asked, “Do you want that pudding?”

  Rex gave it to him and rephrased the question.

  “So what are you going to pitch, Doc? Something great, I’ll bet… like a moon-sized robot or something.”

  “Oh, I have a big surprise up my sleeve,” replied Goldfarb. “A lot of people are going to be very pleased. Do you want that bread?”

  Rex slid the whole tray over to him.

  Finished with his meal, Montgomery stood up to bus his tray. “I’m going to help set up things in the auditorium. I’ll see you fellows at The Pitch.”

  As Montgomery walked away, Rex looked back at the girl who served him at the counter. Other than her shiny red skin, she was perhaps the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his life.

  Someone sat in the vacant chair next to Goldfarb and set down his food tray.

  “Beautiful, isn’t she?” said the man with an impish smile. Rex recognized him at once as Dr. Moreau.

  “She’s very lovely,” Rex agreed.

  “She is the apple of my eye. In fact, I literally created her from an apple.” Moreau took an apple from his tray and held it in his hand.

  “You made her from a fruit?” asked Rex, genuinely amazed.

  “Yes. Many of the creatures you see around here have been made from fruits, some others from vegetables. I even made a man from mixed nuts once, but he was born insane and I had to put him down.”

  Rex looked around the commissary and saw some obvious examples of Moreau’s work acting as kitchen help. He spotted a yellowish man that looked like a giant banana cleaning tables, and a garlic man that was given a wide berth by the others as it mopped the floor. There was also a turnip man, a peach man, and a kale man, the latter acting like a self-righteous dick too good to socialize with any of the other Moots or Manables.

  Moreau continued: “But my finest creation… my sweetest creation… I made from an apple. I call her Apollonia.”

  “Excellent work,” said Rex, looking again at the girl behind the counter. “Other than her shiny red skin and the stem on top of her head, I never would have guessed.”

  Moreau grinned smugly at this.

  “I’m planning a cross-breeding experiment, to determine what her offspring would be like. Would you like to have sex with her?”

  Rex was taken aback by the odd request, but recovered quickly.

  “Um, I’m pretty busy right now with all my hunchback duties, but you can certainly put me on her dance card for later.”

  Moreau smiled lecherously, a twinkle in his eye.

  “Later, then. Splendid.”

  Rex stood up to leave and looked at Goldfarb.

  “I’m going back to work, Doc. You comin’?”

  Goldfarb looked up at Rex with vacant eyes. His hands were shaking badly and he looked disoriented. Rex helped him out of his chair and accompanied him back to the lab.

  As the two men walked away, several of the fruit and vegetable creatures began milling around Dr. Moreau. Many of these misshapen monsters had hoped to court Apollonia themselves, and were furious with the doctor for offering her to Rex. The creatures closed in, surrounding the doctor, grumbling and snarling.

  “Silence, you fools! She is not for you,” said Moreau.

  The turnip man grabbed the doctor’s food tray and flung it across the room. Moreau banged
the tabletop with his fist.

  “Enough, I say! Have you forgotten the House of Bruises?”

  Instantly, the banana man and the peach man stopped in their tracks. The other creatures backed off as well.

  Moreau stood up and put his arms around two of the monsters standing closest to him. He smiled and spoke softly to them.

  “Be patient, my children. When we get free of this island, I will make companions for all of you.”

  * * *

  Back at Rex’s apartment in New York, Dementia pulled the vacuum cleaner out of the hall closet while Crayon finished sorting through piles of old newspapers for recycling.

  “Some of these old newspapers mention Jack the Ripper. Who was that?”

  “Somebody I used to know,” said Dementia. “Not a nice man. He deserved to die in that brothel fire.”

  “Wow, you know everybody.”

  “Seems like it.”

  Crayon moved into the kitchen, and began wiping down the counters. She noticed some kind of blackish substance oozing onto the floor from the refrigerator. When she opened the fridge, a tentacle reached out and squirted black ink at her. She quickly slammed the door shut and stuck a chair in front of it.

  “Everything okay?” asked Dementia, who was vacuuming up unidentified bone fragments in the front room.

  “I think I’ll save the fridge for later,” said Crayon, trying without luck to wipe the ink off her blouse with a dish towel.

  The phone rang. Both women ran to answer it, but Dementia got to it first.

  “Okay, that’s great,” Dementia said to the phone. “Thanks a lot. I’ll be there shortly.”

  “Was that about Rex?” Crayon asked excitedly.

  “No, that was the body shop. They fixed Rex’s car. I’m going over there to pick it up.”

  “That’s great. Rex will be thrilled to have his wheels again when he gets home.”

  Dementia threw on her coat. At the door, she looked back at the disheveled, ink-stained Crayon.

  “You sure you can manage things here without me?”

  “Please. Give me a little credit, willya?” said Crayon, a bit peeved at Dementia’s lack of faith in her.

  “Okay, I’ll be back soon. Be sure to answer the phone. It might be Rex.”