The next morning arrived bright and clear. Othmer gave Marigold a kiss and she left for work, calling, “I’ll see you tonight.”
Othmer waved to her till she was out of sight, then he rushed downstairs to his inky concoction. He picked up the nib, filled it with ink, and murmured, “I better be careful how much I use. I can’t waste this ink.” He gave himself a swift prick, then hurried back upstairs.
Looking at his hand, he exclaimed, “Now to test it again. Maybe I can take my hand off?”
BAM! BAM! Othmer jumped as someone knocked on the door. He opened the door and snapped, “You’ve got swell timing, whoever you are.”
It was Cloyce. He kneeled at Othmer’s feet and wailed, “Othmer! I’m begging you. Please let me stay here!”
Othmer slammed the door shut. Cloyce draped himself against the other side of the door, crying, “Please take me back! I can’t do this on my own. I need you to get me a job. Oh, Othmer! Open the doooor!”
Othmer glared at himself in the mirror as Cloyce wailed on, “Oh, Othmer, I’m weak! I need help, and shelter! Please open up!”
“Gosh! Why can’t that greasy louse leave us alone?” Othmer growled, pacing by the front door.
He paced faster. Cloyce’s wails were steadily growing louder. Othmer began to feel hot and his vision blurred. “Can’t take ‘no’ for an answer, can he?” he groaned, slapping his forehead with his hand. “What can I do?”
Othmer tugged his hand away from his head, but it wouldn’t leave. He pulled harder, confused. He managed to rip his hand free from his head. Sticky gobs of ink splattered from his head to the floor. “Huh?”
Othmer bent to examine the ink drops, then touched his forehead again. He pulled his hand away, and more ink drops fell.
“I’m melting?” That wasn’t supposed to happen. He felt fine. Looking in the mirror, he suppressed a gasp. He didn’t look fine. As Cloyce continued to beat at the door and howl, Othmer tilted his head, thinking hard. He pinched his cheek and formed a little spire from his face. A light bulb popped above his head. Smiling up at the light bulb, Othmer whispered, “Well, this gives me an idea.”
Outside, Cloyce’s temper tantrum raged on. “Othmer! Let me in!”
The door opened slightly. A large eye gleamed from the gloom. A voice echoed, “You want in, Cloyce?”
Cloyce sniffled and stood, his legs trembling from exhaustion. He wiped his nose with the back of his hand, gulping, “Oh, yes! Thank you!”
The door swung open and a hulking, dripping creature sprang at Cloyce. It swiped its claws toward him. Cloyce sprung away, tripping over the front steps of the porch.
“The place is a mess,” the creature hissed, baring its sharp teeth at Cloyce. “You can help tidy up a bit!”
Cloyce sped away, shrieking, “Help! A monster’s attacked Othmer!”
Othmer turned to go inside and let out a wheezy laugh. “Ha, ha! Oh, that was entertainment!”
Looking in the mirror, he started to mold his face back to its original shape. “I think I’ve got a decent idea about my abilities,” he chuckled. Pushing each claw into his gloves, he regained his composure. “Hmm. It’s a little tiring though.”
The trickling trails of flesh tickled his face. Othmer shook himself, hoping this would eliminate the rest of the melting drops, but all he succeeded in doing was sending ink all over the walls. He put a hand to the wall and traced the outline of one of the drops. “I’m still melting?” he mused.
He turned to the mirror. Gooey strands of his flesh dripped from his antennae, and some drops plopped onto the lenses of his glasses. He stood there for two minutes, and in that short time span, he had to take his glasses off four times to clean inky droplets off them. I look like a candle. He felt a little hot ball of panic rise in his throat. What am I going to do about this?
Cloyce had noticed the melting aspect of the creature as well. He was running as fast as his legs could carry him, crashing into prickly brambles and nearly missing a tree. He tripped over a tree root and rolled several feet away. “Yipe!”
Cloyce slammed against a large tree trunk. He sat up, shaking and hugging his knees. Rocking back and forth, he fretted, “What was that thing?”
He chewed his fingertips, muttering, “And what did it do to Othmer? What if he’s hurt?” He hugged his arms around himself and shut his eyes. “Those teeth! And claws! I have to do something. Oh, I hope Marigold wasn’t home.”
He widened his eyes. “Wait. Marigold’s at work!” He sprang to his feet and ran toward Short Pencils. “I’ve got to tell her!”
At Short Pencils, Marigold and Claudette were outside on the front steps of the factory, finishing lunch. Marigold was leaning against a wall. She hadn’t touched her sandwich.
“Marigold, dear, you’ve got to do something about Othmer,” Claudette stated, eyeing Marigold's untouched food. “He’s decimated your home. He’s neglected his responsibilities, and he’s got no fashion sense.”
Marigold looked out to the horizon and let out a weary sigh. “Claudette, I…I don’t know what to do.” She leaned forward, spying something in the distance. “Er, Claudette? Do you see that?”
“What is it?”
Marigold widened her eyes, “Drat! It’s—”
Cloyce collided into Marigold, which sent her sprawling onto her back. Marigold shoved Cloyce off, and Claudette helped her to her feet.
“Not so subtle, huh, Cloyce?” Claudette snickered.
“What in all of Insecta are you doing here?” Marigold snapped, smoothing out her dress.
“Othmer’s in trouble!” Cloyce shouted.
Marigold stared at him. “What do you mean? How would you know?”
“I’m telling the truth!” Cloyce bawled. “I went to the house today. And this thing answered the door! It was huge—” here Cloyce reached to the sky and wiggled his fingers “—and had sharp teeth and claws. And it was melting, like a candle!”
Sobbing, Cloyce clung to Marigold. “Please, Marigold, I’m scared for Othmer!” Cloyce cried.
Marigold gingerly hugged Cloyce and patted his back. She stared off into the distance. Could Cloyce be telling the truth? Something odd must have spooked him this badly, and if Othmer’s safety was at stake, there was no way she was going to stay here and leave her husband in danger.
Marigold faced Claudette, announcing, “Tell Errol I’ll be back later.”
“What?” Claudette gasped. She grabbed Marigold’s shoulders. “Listen, Marigold. I can’t let you go home alone. If this sniveling nitwit is telling the truth, it could be dangerous.” Nodding her head once, Claudette descended the stairs and called, “That’s why I’m coming with you.”
Marigold hopped after her, with Cloyce at her heels. “Really? Thank you, Claudette,” Marigold responded.
“Don’t mention it, doll,” Claudette said with a grin. She winked and nudged her with her elbow. “I have to protect Errol’s employees, eh?”
They hurried to the house in silence. Cloyce interjected with yelps when he tripped over something, or urged Claudette and Marigold to pick up the pace.
As they got closer to the house, Marigold asked Cloyce, “Are you sure about what you saw?”
“Absolutely,” Cloyce whispered.
They stopped outside the door. Marigold reached for the handle. “Here goes nothing.”
Cloyce draped himself over Claudette, clinging to her like a spider to its web and wailing, “I’m scared!” Claudette tried to shake him off, but to no avail.
“Ottie?” Marigold called. She took a step inside. “Are you here?”
Claudette stumbled after Marigold, dragging Cloyce inside. He was still gripping her leg and wouldn’t let go.
Upstairs and out of sight, Othmer peered down the stairs, pricking his antennae. He whipped his head back, sending huge fleshy gobs of ink all over the floor. Trembling, he dove into a closet and started rummaging through the clothes. He tossed out a boa and an old slipper, muttering, “What’s she going to do if she sees me like this?”
He heard the floor creaking as Marigold moved around the house. He sorted through the contents of the closet faster. “Where is it?” His hand grazed the object he had been seeking. “Aha!”
“Ottie, I’m home,” Marigold called.
Cloyce shut his eyes and wrapped himself tighter around Claudette, whimpering, “Tell me when it’s over!”
“Get off, you twit!” Claudette grunted.
All three paused as a voice wafted down to them: “Oh, sorry Marigold! I’m coming.”
Cloyce slid off Claudette, sighing, “He’s alive!”
Othmer stepped down the stairs to where Marigold, Claudette, and Cloyce waited. At first they all gaped at him. Claudette stifled laughter, then burst out loud, “Othmer? What are you doing, looking so ridiculous like that? Are you trying to become a doctor now?”
Othmer was wrapped antennae-to-toe in gauze. Strips of gauze trailed after him like scraggly vines, and snippets dangled from his antennae and nose. Claudette doubled over and laughed harder.
Marigold pushed past her to get closer to Othmer. “Stop this absurdity, Ottie. I’ll help you take that gauze off,” she ordered, reaching her hands toward him.
Othmer backed away and waved his hands for her to stop. “No! I, uh, I need it!”
Marigold gaped at him and asked, “Need it? Whatever for?”
Othmer’s eyes darted over the room as he struggled for an explanation. Resting his gaze on a decorative plate filled with wax fruit set on an end table, he spluttered, “You see, I was, er, cooking, and well, things got a bit messy.”
Claudette jovially slapped Cloyce on the back, sending him flailing away. Sniffing and regaining a bit of composure, she snorted: “HA! What were you thinking, Othmer? You can barely make any of your experiments work. Why try with cooking?”
“Thank you, Claudette and Cloyce, for coming along,” Marigold said. She didn’t take her eyes off Othmer. “I want to be alone with Ottie now.”
Claudette and Cloyce stepped outside. Claudette waved her hand and called back, “Sure thing, peach. I have to get back to work anyway.”
Cloyce cast Marigold and Othmer a confused look and murmured, “I’ll be on the porch.”
Once the door closed behind them, Marigold demanded, “Okay, Ottie. Let me see your face.”
“I can’t let you, Marigold,” Othmer spluttered, shaking his head. “The gauze is making my face feel better!”
Marigold planted her hands on her hips. “Can the bunk, Ottie. If you’ve got serious burns on you, we need to take care of them.”
Othmer stood in the shadows between the front hall and kitchen. Light reflected off his glasses, hiding his eyes from Marigold. “Please, Marigold. I’m fine, I promise,” he responded with a shake of his head. “Everything’s all right.”
Marigold clenched and unclenched her fists a few times, then whispered, “If you say so. I’m concerned about you, Ottie. I want you to work on your experiment if it makes you happy. But I think we were both happier before you got so deeply invested in it. I want our lives to be normal again.”
Othmer’s heart dropped. He wanted to comfort her, and for a brief second, he wondered if she was right. He started to walk toward her, but upon noticing bits of his hands melting through the gauze, he retreated farther into the shadows. He blinked. He had to continue with his experiment. With any luck, the fame he’d garner from his idea would make his and Marigold’s lives so much easier. He had to do it for her.
“I want you to be happy too, Marigold. Trust me,” he whispered. “What I’m doing will ensure a good future for the both of us!”