"The Peanut Butter"

The Peanut Butter

By Kevin Coen

It was a beautifully sunny day...except for the approaching hurricane, but I wasn't worried.... I hadn't been in a hurricane before, so I wasn't sure how to prepare, but my girlfriend thought that as a precaution I should buy some peanut butter. When I reached the store, it was closed, but in the glass door, there was a five-inch high cookie-cutter shape of a little fat man cut out. I looked up and down the street, not sure what had happened. Not seeing anyone, I decided to investigate. I tried opening the door, but being locked, I got down on my knees and tried to climb through the hole in the glass door. Only my hand and a few inches of my arm were able fit. As I pulled it out, I looked through the hole and saw something in the shadows. There was movement...I squinted my eyes to see what it was, and then it happened.

A horde of them jumped at the door all at once, sending me flying backward in surprise. Those that hit the glass bounced back to the floor. Some of them began to exit through the cutout while the others continued trying to break the door. The little brown men that had escaped the store began running toward me, some with peanut butter on the ends of their stub-arms. I hoisted myself to my feet, but they jumped on my legs and started chewing through the denim fabric. I tried to throw them off, but I only succeeded in breaking off the legs of two or three that continued chewing through my blue jeans with what remained of their torsos.

There was a crash. I looked back toward the store; the others had broken through the glass door. Those that hadn't shattered in their escape attempts ran toward me with a look of fierce intensity in their frosty, white eyes. I began running away, brushing my legs free of the first few to have attacked. I looked behind me; they were too fast for me: the one and a half pounds of gingerbread men I had had for lunch were slowing me down. Their tiny little legs could be heard clicking on the pavement behind me. I could only run for so much longer. Some of them screamed as their legs gave out beneath them and those following behind them trampled over the fallen remains.

It became too much for me. I collapsed, hitting my knees on the pavement. I closed my eyes in anticipation of the attack. Nothing happened. I looked behind me. Nothing. I looked forward again. Nothing.

Click. Click. They clicking became faster. Where was it? I saw nothing! Clickity, clickity, click! Where were the bastards? Where?! I looked about still to see nothing.

"Why are you doing this to me?" I screamed as loud as I could. That's when I made the connection between lunch and now: gingerbread-men/-women/-persons. It was their revenge. Would they be merciless, or give me a chance to redeem? There was no answer to any of my questions in the stale afternoon air. The hurricane was approaching evidenced by nearing thunder. I hoisted myself up so that only one knee was touching the ground. "I've learned my lesson!" I yelled, and continued futilely by saying, "Can I please leave?" Still no answer.

Then there was a sound like none I had ever heard before: It was some sort of war cry that sounded as though someone was gargling cookies into a loudspeaker. A cloud approached overhead. I looked up as the sun began to be eaten. Shadows spread slowly across the street. The darkness approached me. In a feeble attempt to save myself, I jumped several feet from the shadow. Another cloud began approaching from the opposite direction. There was darkness to either side of me. I didn't know what to do. I began running down the strip of light that was disappearing quickly. I heard the clicking again. I knew that I had to do something quick if I wanted to escape. I saw a car to my left-in the shadows. I hesitated, but then decided that I had to try.

I ran to the driver-side door. I pulled on the handle. Locked. Damn! I looked in the darkened window. There was a person in the shadow. I started banging on the safety glass window, looking behind me and seeing nothing, but still hearing the slow clicking of gingerbread feet. The head turned toward me, still in the shadow of the car. I could not make out the person's features, and then they moved into what little light remained. I jumped backward, closer to the little men behind me. The door of the car opened, and out stepped a figure, like those behind me, but equal to me in size. I couldn't exhale the carbon that lingered in my lungs. I didn't know what to do.

There was more clicking, and then, the war cry. It started with one grew to two, four, eight and sixteen. My eyes adjusted to the darkness just as the last sliver of light disappeared from the street. I turned my head. I could see all of them now: a hundred or more. The pace of my heart quickened. The war cry was limited to the front two or three lines of "soldiers." The adrenaline began to pump more freely through my body. A sense of courage began to build. I turned back to my five-foot assailant.

"You bastard." I muttered to him under my breath. His apathetic, white eyes, which were looking behind at his army, focused on me. A low, cookie-crunch sound began emitting from his throat. He reached into his pocket-for he was wearing tweed pants, which I had not previously seen-and pull out a corkscrew. He twirled it around in his stiff, frosted hands for a moment, seemingly admiring it's silvery shine. He looked up from his tool and pointed it at me. I reached for his implement of death, but in doing so, he stabbed my right forearm, drawing blood. He grabbed the back of my arm, getting it sticky with icing. He drilled the corkscrew into me slowly for a moment, and then looked me rectangularly (nice parody of squarely, but spell check doesn't care for it) in the eyes. He smiled. In one quick motion, he pulled the screw out of my arm, dislodging one large chunk of flesh, sending it flopping to the cold pavement, followed by a waterway of blood. I screamed out in pain. In a moment of pure anger and fear, I brought up my right leg and kicked him in his abdomen. There was a snap. He looked at me, unsure of what had happened. His upper body began wavering. It tipped over toward me, hitting the pavement, shattering sending pieces into the front lines of his army. His lower body stood for a moment before falling on top of the shattered bits that cushioned the fall.

The army of little men was hushed for a moment. They stepped back slightly. I stepped toward their ranks, letting out an exhalation of relief. They stood, undeviating. They each reached into unseen crevices and pulled out miniature corkscrews. I stepped back, and they took several steps forward. I was once again lost as to what to do. They continued forward, and I, to avoid their advance, backward. As my foot landed, there was a crunch. I looked down. I had hit the Goliath gingerbread man. The car! Of course!

I turned my entire body quickly and jumped into the car whose door was still opened. I slammed the door behind me, and found the lock mechanism. The large one had left the keys in the ignition. They were attached to a key ring in the shape of a gingerbread man cookie cutter. Ingenious, I thought to myself. I turned the key, dreading that it wouldn't start. It did! I put the old vehicle into drive and sped down the street, followed in far off pursuit by the army. I made a U-turn half the way down the street, and faced the army with the automobile. Their running came to a quick halt. Several in the back lines began running in the opposite direction, but most held firm. I hesitated no more and pressed my foot to the gas pedal. A few more of the tiny men moved, but most stood still, awaiting a martyr's death. I closed my eyes as I made impact with the horde. Several of them flew upward and upon hitting the windshield, shattered. I made another U-turn. There were only a few who had escaped, and they were running off into various shadows. I sighed without burden.

It was over. My adventure was over. So I would return to my apartment, without the peanut butter that my girlfriend had requested.