Week VII: Telling stories

When I was but a wee young laddie, my father told me made-up stories at bedtime. He was often away on weeknights, but usually home on weekends to tuck me in. He must have averaged two or three stories every week for several years.

Over the years, he developed a revolving cast of fantastical characters who featured in nightly escapades. One of the more common threads involved his imaginary beasts run amok, only to be wrangled by an absurdly specialized keeper of such creatures. Good thing that dragon catcher happened to be in the neighbourhood, or things might've gone really bad for Fred. A deus ex machina, one might candidly observe, as if to bare one's sallow gums in a snaggle-toothed grimace and proceed to chew all the fun and imagination out of stories AND RUIN MY CHILDHOOD as a degree in English literature is wont to do. Stupid literary theory courses.

...but I digress. One such critter was the vaguely Seussian "gobblesnoff," It resembled a small rodent when discovered and was notable for its alarming rate of growth as it ate. The gobblesnoff's kryptonite was macaroni. A humble box of mac and cheese was the only thing that could stop it from terrorizing the populace, blob-style. The story went like this (read aloud for the full effect):

Once upon a time, there was a little boy named Billy. One day, Billy was playing down by the creek when he heard a strange sound, almost like a cat's meow, coming from under a pile of rocks. "Mew! Mew!" He crept closer, and the sound got louder... "MEW! MEW!!"

There under the stones, Billy found a steel box tied shut with a rope. DO NOT FEED THE GOBBLESNOFF, advised the box. Billy just couldn't hold back his curiosity. He wrestled the knots from the box and found a strange creature inside. It was tiny and furry, and might have been mistaken for a guinea pig or a hamster if not for its giant mouth. "Mew?"

"Awwwwwwwwww, it's SO CUTE!" Billy shouted excitedly. "Would you like to come home and play with me?"

"Mew!! MEW!!" replied the gobblesnoff.

Billy scooped the furry beast from the box and ran home. He couldn't wait for his parents to come home from work so he could show them what he'd found. Billy and the gobblesnoff played in the yard all that morning. Billy was having so much fun, he didn't even realize how hungry he was until his stomach started GRRRROWLING! He carried the gobblesnoff into the kitchen. "Now you wait here, I'm going to make myself a peanut butter sandwich," he told the creature, and plopped it on the counter. Billy had only turned his back for a minute to get them jam, but when he turned back, the entire loaf of bread was gone! The gobblesnoff had a very satisfied look on its furry face. And it was bigger!

"Did you eat that whole loaf of bread?!"

"Mew..."

"Oh no! The box said not to feed you! What'll I do!?"

But it was too late. The gobblesnoff ran across the counter and, SLUPP, SLURP, SCHLOMP! He ate the toaster, the coffee maker, and the blender! And with every gulp, it grew bigger, and bigger, and BIGGER! Soon it was too big to fit on the counter! It had grown to the size of a large dog, and showed no signs of slowing as it scrambled through the kitchen, devouring everything in its path.

Billy chased the creature from the house, screaming and waving a broom in its face, "STOP! STOP!" But it was no use. The gobblesnoff ate the broom and started in on the lawn chairs. Then, Billy had an idea. He ran back to the house as fast as his legs would carry him and dialed 9-1-1.

"9-1-1 emergency?"

"You have to help me! I fed a gobblesnoff and it's eating my entire house!"

"Fed a gobblesnoff!? Didn't you read the box?? We'll send someone right away!"

Billy ran back outside just in time to see the gobblesnoff tearing through the garage, sucking down power tools and cans of oil. Just then, a little black car with a blue siren on the hood came screeching to a halt in front of the house, and out popped a short little man with a huge moustache and a small steel box under one arm.

"You fed the gobblesnoff, didn't you?"

"Yes sir," Billy replied, ashamed.

"Well, only one thing left to do now," replied the man. He gathered up an armload of macaroni and chased after the creature who was now the size of an elephant and shoving rakes and spades down its throat. Just as it opened its enormous mouth to swallow the lawn mower, the man hurled an armload of macaroni down its throat. 

The gobblesnoff stopped. It coughed. Then it started to shake and wheeze, and then, PHUT! PHUTPHUTPHUT! Out came the rakes and spades, the saws and oil cans, the lawn chairs, the furniture, the blender, the coffee maker, the toaster, and finally, the entire loaf of bread. The man quickly gathered the gobblesnoff into his arms and shoved it in the box, wrapped it in chains, attached a padlock, and glared at poor Billy.

"I'll be you'll think twice about taking strange creatures home next time," he said as he tossed the box into the back of his car and sped away.

And that's the end of the story.

My dad told me made-up stories until I got old enough to start pointing out the discontinuity errors between successive versions of his creatures. It's got to be hard to keep track such a diverse cast of characters. It's amusing to wonder how much growing up on stories about gobblesnoffs, snicklegooks (which I'd never thought of as being subtly racist until just now when I typed it out) and wicked wood crones influenced my thinking. Every time that I have to go to the bank or talk to my insurance agent, I find myself wishing I could run down to Fred's shed and sic his dragon on them. That'll learn 'em a thing or two about making me listen to Carrie Underwood when I'm on hold.

Word count: 1,014