Othmer had collapsed in the dining room when he came inside earlier and had fallen into a restless slumber. As he rose from the floor, he realized how much more sleep he wanted. He had never been this tired in his whole life, even on nights where he had stayed up till the wee morning hours working on pencil designs.
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The sound of footsteps and loud sneezing caught his attention. Othmer slunk to the front window to see who had sneezed. His jaw dropped to the ground with a splat as he recognized the silhouettes of Errol, Claudette, and Marigold. Cold air rushing into the roof of his mouth made Othmer realize that he should stop gawking and start searching for his jaw. Kneeling on the chipped floor, he tried to locate his jaw in the dark. His hands brushed against paper and dust bunnies. A stab of shame went through him as he realized that he had let the house fall into such disarray. His hands shook as he finally found his jaw. He pulled a piece of scrap paper off the bottom of it and slapped his jaw back into place.
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Errol was trying to refrain from sneezing again, Claudette was looking around with apprehension, and as for Marigold, Othmer couldn’t bring himself to look at her face.
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As they stepped onto the porch, he ran to the kitchen. Heart pounding, he slipped out through the back door, taking great care not to let it slam shut. What would Marigold do if she saw him like this? He made his way to a large tree that provided ample cover to hide behind, yet provided a decent vantage point for him to watch what his friends and wife were doing.
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Reaching for the key to unlock the door, Marigold noticed the broken window and gasped. Errol leaned forward to inspect the damage. Squinting, he tilted his head. Claudette and Marigold stood beside him.
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“What in all of Insecta is that?” Claudette asked, wrinkling her nose and pointing at the dark puddles splattered around the broken glass.
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“It looks like ink,” Errol mumbled, grabbing an umbrella that was on the porch and poking the tip in one of the puddles. He lifted the umbrella from the puddle, and a long string of goo stretched from the umbrella to the porch. He gave it a disgusted look then tossed the umbrella into the garden.
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Marigold knelt beside the puddles and reached for one, stammering, “Is it from…”
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Errol nodded and placed a hand on her shoulder. “It has to be Othmer’s.”
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Heart pounding, Marigold stood. What could have happened here that would cause Othmer to leap out a window? What if he was hurt? She looked at Errol and Claudette. They were staring at her as if she knew what to do next. Marigold crossed her arms and glanced down.
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“We’ve got to find him,” she announced.
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“We will, I promise,” Errol said after a pause. “But where should we start?”
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Claudette snorted and jerked her head toward the forest. “Well, it looks like he’s not home anymore,” she pointed out. “We should try the woods.”
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Butterflies spun around in Marigold’s stomach. She shut her eyes and replied, “You don’t think he went into town, do you?”
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“I don’t think so. He was ashamed of his appearance this morning,” Errol mused with a shake of his head. “I doubt he’d want anybody to see him.”
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Claudette tapped her chin with her finger. “We need flashlights.”
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A small wave of relief washed over Marigold. Maybe Errol was right and Ottie was resting in the woods somewhere. She turned and opened the front door. “We’ve got some in the basement. I’ll grab them,” she called.
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Othmer started to slink back to the house, placing his feet down as silently as he could. He stuck to the shadows. If they’re going into the woods, he side stepped a twig, I can sneak back down to the basement. He reached a drainpipe and, with great care, he began to climb to the roof. He’d wait them out up there, out of sight.
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As the trio vanished into the house, he heard Marigold’s voice echo, “I hate to say it, but it would be helpful if Cloyce was here.”
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Errol snorted, “Cloyce couldn’t find a drop of water in the ocean.”
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Hoisting himself onto the roof, Othmer dug his feet into the shingles. He hadn’t been prepared for such a steep pitch. He slid down a few inches, so he ground his feet in further. Finally his descent stopped. He took a deep breath then clawed up the roof, ripping a few shingles out in the process. Pausing to rest, he shifted his weight from one side to the other. The roof gave a loud creak, and it sunk under him. Othmer stopped moving, but it was too late. With an ominous rumble, the roof caved in.
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Dust filled the living room and the lights flickered off. Coughing, Marigold rummaged through her pockets to find a match.
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“Eugh! I’ve got dirt on my coat!” Errol snarled.
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Claudette groaned, “That’s what you’re concerned about right now?”
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Marigold struck a match. The weak pulsing light illuminated the damage in front of her. Shingles, plants, and debris were everywhere. She stiffened. Not only was her husband missing, but now she had a terrific mess to clean later. Looking at the center of the pile, Marigold almost dropped her match as she saw the thing entangled in the mess.
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A shapeless, melting mass tried extricating itself from the wreckage. Marigold stumbled backward and bumped into Claudette. Shaking, she grabbed Claudette’s hand and leaned against her shoulder.
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Errol squinted at the thing and let out an incredulous gasp. “Othmer? Is that you?”
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The thing ripped itself free from the pile, sending drops of flesh everywhere. Marigold wiped some of it off her forehead.
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“Get away from me, Errol!” The creature snarled, backing away toward the darkness of the kitchen.
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Was this thing really Ottie? Marigold knew what the answer was, but she wanted to hear him admit it. She stepped away from Claudette. Marigold’s gaze bored into Othmer’s. Antennae laid back and hands folded in front of her, she breathed, “Ottie? Is it really you?”
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The match’s light danced off Othmer’s undulating form. Marigold took another step closer to him. He reminded Marigold of a little wax figure of a bird she used to have as a child. One day she had left it outside in the sun, and it had been reduced to a lumpy blob with sunken eyes and a snub beak. She shook her head, whispering, “What did you do to yourself?”
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​The only thing Marigold recognized were his glasses, but the flickering light glared off the lenses and she couldn’t see his eyes. He gulped. “I can fix it, Marigold. It’s just a little hiccup, that’s all.”
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Errol barreled his way beside Marigold, snapping, “What about that roof, can you fix it, too?”
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“Back off, Errol,” Othmer snarled.
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“Ottie,” Marigold murmured. She extended her hand to what she assumed was his face. He ducked under her, avoiding her touch. She asked, “Why did you do this?”
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Her hand came closer. Othmer finally allowed her to touch him, closing his eyes and breathing in the citrus scent of her perfume. He relaxed against her hand. He jerked away as he remembered what he looked like. “I can change Insecta, for the better,” Othmer said. “I can improve our lives too!”
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“My life doesn’t need improvement,” Marigold sighed. “It just needs you.”
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Othmer’s mouth dropped open. Did she really feel that way? He snapped his mouth shut. All the years they had been married, he had figured that she wanted so much more than what they had. He shifted his weight. He knew she deserved more than this house or her mundane job. He shook his head, at a loss for words.
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“It’s time to give up this nonsense, Othmer!” Claudette’s voice sliced through the silence.
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Errol nodded in agreement. “We’ll forget this incident. You can come back to Short Pencils.”
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Othmer rose to his full height, which now towered over Errol, Claudette, and Marigold. “Why should I?” he hissed. “You both have mocked my ideas since we first met!”
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“And you really can’t understand why?” Errol shouted as stood on his tip toes, waving his arms in every direction.
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A fleeting sense of failure flickered in Othmer’s heart. He knew, deep down, that what Errol and Claudette said was true. He was a failure, along with his experiment. He also knew that there was no way to fix it. Even through this realization, he didn’t want to admit it out loud. He had endured too much ridicule at Errol’s and Claudette’s hands. Is this all his meager life amounted too? He didn’t want to dwell on the thought any longer and forced the trio outside.
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They stumbled into the garden, Othmer following after them.
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“I’ll prove it to you both,” Othmer snarled. “This idea will work!”
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They backed into the fence. Othmer crushed several flowers and pumpkins underfoot.
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“Stop it, Othmer!” Errol snapped.
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Claudette pointed to the plants. “Yeah, you’ve already got a roof to fix. Now you’ve got a garden to spruce up too!”
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Othmer rose over the group, his flesh dripping down in steady rivulets. All he wanted to do was swipe those arrogant looks off Errol’s and Claudette’s faces.
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Marigold bustled her way between her husband and her friends. “Ottie, you’ve got to calm down!” she called.
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A new voice cut into the still night air. “Marigold, Marigold!”
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The bushes at the end of the garden trembled, and Cloyce popped up from the branches. Dirt smeared his vest, and he had a few scratches on his face from running about the night woods. Trying to look brave, and brandishing a small garden spade, he announced, “I’ve warned the town that there’s a monster on the loose. I’m here to save you!”
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Errol rolled his eyes and snorted. “Give me a break.”
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Othmer couldn’t take it anymore. The realization that he had made such a terrible and irreversible experiment fueled his rage. And the sight of his cousin reminded him of the sleepless nights and ruined toothbrushes that Cloyce had left in his wake, along with all the time Marigold had wasted in trying to help him obtain a job.
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Othmer lunged for his cousin. Cloyce jumped several feet in the air and let out a shrill scream.
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Cloyce tore out of the garden and toward town, Othmer hot on his feet.
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“Cloyce, Othmer!” Marigold called and dashed after them. “Come back!”
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She bumped into Errol and he grabbed Marigold’s arm. She tried to shake free and panted, “What are we going to do? Once they find out that thing is Ottie—”
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Errol interrupted, “They won’t. Let’s go!”
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They chased after them, leaving the house alone and silent in the still night.