by Kevin Shamel
Cage was grabbing food and stuffing it into his mouth.
The animals began to chatter.
Scaredy asked, “What does that mean? Like, from now? But none of us has seen a word of the script. Are we on the clock?”
Stinkin’ smiled. “Be yourselves. We’re making a movie about a film crew who kidnaps a human boy.” He let their realizations occur.
The animals grew quiet in thought. They all turned to Cage.
“What?” the human asked.
Dirty Bird slurred, “You gotta play the victim, kid. Twenty-four-seven.” He fell over on the table.
“I gotta what?”
Filthy Pig flew over the table and head-butted the kid back into unconsciousness.
Itsy and Filthy Pig dragged Cage across the room and propped him against an old bag of golf clubs in the corner opposite the zombie-cats. They began taping him up again.
“What’s going on, Dad?” Julio stood on his hind legs and narrowed his eyes.
Stinkin’ said to the room, “We’re not lettin’ the kid go.” There were murmurs. “Itsy, Pig and I were talkin’, and doing that is just ridiculous. He’d tell.” A few rat droppings rolled down the slanted table and caught on the pen-tray, adding themselves to a ragged row of rat turds of varying ages.
“But I just told him we’d let him go! We can’t kill him now.” Julio scampered onto the table beside his father.
Some of the chickens nodded.
“Of course we can. We can and we will. It’s the law. Sort of. Anyway, we can’t ever let him go—you all know that. If we did, we’d all be fucked. Our film would be fucked. We can’t afford that. This opportunity is gold! And it fell right into our paws. I’ve got plans for this movie. Big plans. We’re gonna make this more than a reality film. We’re going to make it a fictomentary—the meat of cinema, full-on fodder! Close to a documentary, but with enough creative license to make the fuckin’ thing interesting.
“I’m tellin’ ya, Itsy and me got this worked out. It’s gonna be fucking brilliant! The kid will look so real that it will always be a mystery. With him dead, no one can ever prove he was a real boy. Let them try! It will add to our fame.
“We’ll be the most famous animals of all time. Lassie? That no-talent bitch will be forgotten. And I don’t mean that human TV bullshit she did. I mean the real stuff. This will be bigger than any of her underground Frisbee free-for-all films. Bigger than her and Mr. Ed’s six–hour porno.
“This is history-making. We can’t afford to have the kid found out. Let’s say he doesn’t tell a single human about being kidnapped by talking animals filming a movie. What if an animal saw him later?” Heads began to nod. “No. He dies. And for now, we kidnapped him. No need to act about that. We treat him like a kid we napped. Got it? We’ll go over character sketches and the basic outline after dinner. Any more arguments? Legitimate fucking questions?” Stinkin’ looked around the room.
Cage moaned through his nose as the pig and dog finished taping him up.
“You can’t be serious.” Julio shook his head at his father.
“Oh, I’m serious. And you’d better be serious, too.” Stinkin’ Rat poked his son in the chest. He turned to the room, “You’d better all be serious. We’re not fuckin’ around about this. This is more than life or death.”
Filthy Pig snorted.
Itsy snorted.
Julio skittered down the drafting table. He stalked out of the room without a word.
The animals watched him go and turned back to Stinkin’.
“He’ll come around.” He met the eyes of the crew, surveying their convictions. “Everybody in?”
There were affirmatives. Not even the chickens hesitated.
“Good,” said the rat. “Itsy will hand out what he’s got written so far—mostly character sketches and a rough opening. Then we’ll eat and get down to business.”
Itsy handed out scripts.
Cage awoke to darkness and the overwhelming stench of feces. He pushed himself to his hands and knees and vomited. His hands slipped in something slick and sticky. He fell into his puke and puked again.
Cage heard movement above and behind him—scratching.
“Hello?” He turned around.
A loud plopping sound directly in front of him caused the boy to jump backward. He slipped in the puddle of vomit and fell into a large, soft pile of what he easily identified as the source of the stench.
Whoever was above him could no longer maintain composure and burst out laughing. The animal—it sounded like a dog—ran away and the laughter grew dim.
The room began to brighten as Cage became accustomed to the darkness.
Just as he realized where he was, a light came on from high above.
Cringing, he peered between his dripping fingers. He stood in the center of a small room filled with animal waste. Animals looked down on him through a grate in the ceiling. As he looked up, three rats pointed their asses at him, lifted their tails, and dumped their little bombs at Cage.
There was much laughter. There were cameras and lights, and a microphone was lowered between the grates.
Stinkin’ Rat yelled, “Hey there, Cage! Welcome to your new room!”
The animals started hooting and screeching. They laughed and slapped each other on the backs, pointing down at the boy and howling.
Cage screamed, “What are you doing to me?!”
The rat shushed the animal racket. He looked around at all the animals gathered around the boy at the bottom of the pit.
He brought his paws to his foamy muzzle and shouted down at Cage, “We’re shitting on ya, boy!” He turned and shat.
The other rats in the crew let loose. Stripey shit on the kid. Itsy peed on him, having been the one to shit in the dark just before.
Cage fell to the floor with his arms over his head. He dry-heaved.
Crap fell on him.
Stinkin’ Rat yelled down, “Have fun with your roommate!”
The animals left. Most were laughing crazy animal laughter. The lights snapped off behind them. All but the twinkling spotlight from a camera fixed to the grate.
Not long after the animals went away, a door opened in front of Cage and light flooded his horrible room. When he saw the silhouette in the doorway, he realized who’d been missing from the shitting party above him. The pig.
Filthy Pig stood for a moment, watching the boy grow afraid.
Then he said, “Welcome to my room.”
Cage slipped backward to the far wall, knocking his shit-covered head against the cold, wet bricks of the sub-basement animal toilet. He sobbed.
Filthy came in, locking and closing the door behind him.
He snuffed over to the boy, tossing feces with his snout off the ragged paths that crisscrossed the room. Filthy took the crying, shaking lump of boy in his teeth and dragged him away from the wall.
“Don’t worry,” said the pig to the boy, “I’ll give ya something to cry about.”
Stinkin’ Rat reclined in his little rat bed in front a giant flat screen TV, watching his gold-edition DVD of Fucking a MILF Like I’d Like To Fuck a MILF. He had his ugly rat dick in his paw and was just about to come when his sissy kid barged in.
“Oh, gross, Dad! Aw, damnit—it’s humans, too. Ick, Dad. Ugh.” Julio shielded his eyes.
Stinkin’ ignored the little whiner and kept rubbing, while on the screen a cock bigger than his whole body slid into a glorious woman pussy. He came while Julio searched for the remote and finally ended the cacophony of human sex that blared through the producer/director/human-porn freak’s bedroom.
“Mmmmm….aaaaaahhhhhhhrrrrrrrrrrraaahhhhh! What the fuck do you want, Julio?”
“I want you to stop jerking-off to humans.”
“Shut up.” Stinkin’ lit a smoke.
“I don’t think this is smart, Dad. I think we’re going to get caught. I think we should kill the kid right now. But we shouldn’t make a movie about it.”
“What are you talki
ng about, Julio? I thought you loved humans. I thought you wanted to let the kid go.” Stinkin’ mocked his son with a sappy-sick mimic, “He won’t think it was real. He won’t tell.” He blew smoke at Julio’s face.
Julio coughed. “Stop it, Dad. I’m serious. No one is going to believe that Cage is a robot. Or FX of any kind. He’ll look so real because he is so real! Someone’s going to find out. It’s him or us.”
Stinkin’ turned on the news. “No one’s going to find out. And we are going to kill him. When we’re done with him.”
“This movie is bad news.”
“It isn’t, Son. It’s the best idea I’ve ever had.”
“You didn’t have the idea. Itsy did.”
“Well, fine then, it’s the best idea I’ve ever stolen. Now get out of here. I need some sleep. So do you. We have to go over the script tomorrow.”
“You think he’ll have something by then?”
“Ah, hell, the dog’s practically got it written. He’s wanted to write this for years, so he says.” He took a drag, dropped his cigarette and crushed it on the floor with a calloused hind paw.
“I don’t like Itsy.”
“Oh yeah? Well, I sure do.” Stinkin’ motioned toward the door. “Now go to sleep. At least, get the fuck out of here.”
Julio stood still. He flared his eyes at Stinkin’. “You know, snuff films are nothing new.”
Stinkin’ Rat laughed and clapped his claws around his son’s shoulder. “Snuff film? We’re not making a snuff film. We’re making a fictomentary. And we’re not killing him in the movie. In the movie he turns into a pig and lives happily ever after.”
“Wha—?” Julio let himself get spun around toward the exit.
“Yup. It’s all about transformation and dehumanizing the beast within—it all ends fine for the kid. Then we kill him. I told you, fantasy and reality all combined. It’s fabulous, my boy, fabulous. You’ll see. Not only will we get away with it, but it will make us untouchable. Now go get some fuckin’ rest.” He shoved his assistant toward the door.
“Uh, okay,” Julio conceded. He left.
Stinkin’ watched him go.
He turned the TV back to whole-rat-sized cocks pounding whole-rat-sized pussies and masturbated until he passed out with his little dick in his paw.
Dirty Bird found him like that in the morning. He took a series of photos before he woke the rat.
Dirty accompanied Stinkin’ to the breakfast production meeting and script run-through.
“Itsy,” said Stinkin’ Rat, settling down at the table, “whatcha got for us?”
Itsy dropped a fat stack of papers in front of Stinkin’. “Got it all.”
There were murmurs. Especially among the rats, all of whom were amateur screenplay writers.
Stinkin’ flipped through the pages to the end.
Julio was reading his copy and sipping at his coffee. “It ends just like you said it did, Dad. The kid turns into a pig, and everyone loves him. Wouldn’t it be great if that really happened? Seems the whole movie is about torturing the kid until he turns into a pig. How would that happen? Why would a film crew want to do that? Why do you want to do that? Do you think he’s going to turn into a pig when you’re all done filming? I don’t think so. I think you’re going to kill him and eat him instead.”
“So fucking what?” asked Itsy. “Yes, we’re going to kill him. You want to kill him. You thought we should call the cops when we first found him. You’ve wanted him dead all along. We’re not only prolonging his life, we’re immortalizing him! And yes, then we’re eating him.” Itsy turned away laughing.
The chickens clucked. The cats snickered. The zombie-cats moaned.
Julio asked Scaredy to take his copy of the screenplay. He sipped at his coffee and stood. “I’ll be in my room,” he announced. He left without looking back.
Stinkin’ watched Julio leave. He frowned. “Where’s Pig?”
“Sleepin’ in, I guess,” said Dirty Bird.
“He had a long night,” said Itsy.
“Ew,” said Scaredy Cat.
Stripey put a paw on Scaredy’s hind leg and nodded.
“All right,” said Stinkin’, “I’ll talk to Pig later. Julio, too. Here’s what I want you to know—this is one of the two production meetings we’ll have. You take your scripts and shooting schedule and work out whatever parts you have that involve one another. I’ll meet with you individually to go over details if need be.
“Chickens, you’ve got shot calendars and scene sketches, but you won’t really have much to do but check memory and batteries and run the control room. We’ve got two cams set up on the kid—one attached to his head, and one on the room. We’ll do the scenes without the kid on a different schedule. I’ll hand that out at our next meeting. The kid’s scenes will be shot by then.
“For now, study your scenes, be yourselves, and be sure you show up on time. I’m not sure how long this kid’s gonna last, so we’re gonna stick tight to the schedule. Any questions, come find me or Julio.”
“What the hell is with my character?” asked Scaredy as the animals began to get up. “Am I playing some sort of bestiality freak?”
Itsy nodded slightly to Stinkin’.
Stinkin’ said, “You’re playin’ a human-lover, yes.”
“Ew. Talk about creative license.”
Stripey said, “You can do it. Just pretend you’re at home.”
“Zing! None for you tonight,” Scaredy clawed the air at Stripey and gave a, “Reeowrrr.”
One of the rats said, “Two weeks? You think we can shoot this in two weeks?”
Stinkin’ snapped his attention to the rat, but when he spoke it was to the whole room. “We will shoot this in two weeks, or less. We will. There are no sets save for this production studio. Most of us live here. There’s no commute. We’re filming all the time. There’s really not many of you that act with the kid directly. Most of the work will be editing. We’ve got the kid’s stamina to think about, and I want to get this finished and submitted to Animaux.”
There were gasps.
“Really?” Stripey and Scaredy asked together.
“Really,” Itsy answered.
Stinkin’ nodded and smiled.
The crew-rat smiled, too. “All right, boss. Animaux it is. Always wanted to be involved in an Animaux Festival film.”
“Well, now you are,” said Stinkin’. “Now you all are. So let’s get to work.”
The animals grabbed breakfast remains and made their way out of the kitchen just as Filthy Pig barged through the door.
“Better be food left,” the pig grumbled on his way into a chair. He scooped up bowls and plates from the table and heaped them in a pile.
Stinkin’ watched the crew leave, and then the pig eat.
“Pig, did you feed the boy?”
Filthy didn’t look up from his pile of plates. He smacked food. “No.”
“Good. Don’t. Scaredy’s doin’ it on camera.”
The pig ate. Watching him made even Stinkin’ Rat feel ill.
“In fact, don’t do anything to the kid from now on unless I know about it.”
“Fine.” Filthy rooted at the table, knocking two plates off. They shattered.
“Good Gaia, Pig. Get some fucking manners.” The rat leapt from his seat at the table and skittered out the door.
Filthy burped, throwing a bone that whipped over Stinkin’s head. “Fuck you, rat!”
“Fuck you, rat.” The boy crawled against the wall—away from Julio.
“Come on, Cage. I want to tell you some things.”
The boy edged away.
“Cage.”
Quietly, Cage said, “I used to like animals.”
Julio sighed. “Yeah. I’m sure you did. I really don’t mind humans.” He moved closer to the boy.
Cage stayed still.
“But Cage, I have to tell you. This really has nothing to do with not liking you. Or not liking people. It’s about a secret, Cage. The big
gest secret we have. You see, we need people. But we need them to think they’re special—better than us. We need you for your thumbs. And we need you to believe your thumbs make you better. We need that for all of our futures. So no matter what, people can’t learn about who animals really are. Not yet. Not in either of our lifetimes. Even if you’d lived to be an old man.”
The boy sat crying in the shitty dark. He listened, but tried not to believe.
“I’m going to tell you the rest of the secret, Cage. Because you have to die. Because you’re not going to leave here, no matter what any of them tell you. Don’t believe that they’ll let you go. They’re going to kill you, Cage. They have to. I’m going to tell you why it’s important that you die before they kill you, though. Maybe it will help you feel better about all of this. I’m really sorry it had to happen. You seem like a nice enough kid. Do you want to know the future, Cage?”
The boy looked down at the rat. “I want to know what’s happening,” he whispered.
Julio told the child the secret of the future—a crazy story about thumbs, dinosaurs, and the hidden alphabet. It made even less sense than what was happening to him at the time. Cage felt no more comfortable about his coming demise. In fact, it bothered the boy even more than being killed by a bunch of rotten little animals for no fucking reason at all. Even the insanity that had taken hold after the first night in the pig’s toilet room failed to numb the itch inside Cage that told him to survive.
The child just nodded.
Julio said, “I’m leaving, Kid. I’m leaving the fucking country, I think. I’m really sorry about all this. I wish you hadn’t looked out that window when you did.”
Cage said, “Courtney…”
The rat shook his head. “See ya, Kid.”
“I hate rats,” Cage whispered.
Stinkin’ Rat made his movie. He hired Itsy as Julio’s replacement. No one even looked for Julio. Stinkin’ said he’d always been a little pussy, and that it was good riddance and all that big-talk that greasy, underground film producing rats say.
