A little bit of dirt never hurt anyone-

By P.S.Gifford

Wallace Montgomery slumped at his kitchen table dressed in nothing more than grayish white boxer shorts. The girth of his behind overflowed on the wicker chair. In front of him were three empty “big boy” frozen breakfast containers. The stink of putrefaction that permeated his kitchen had been softened by the scent of imitation maple syrup, waffles and bacon. He rubbed his uncovered flaccid belly, which rested below the elastic of his underwear, and was rewarded with a gargantuan belch. It was a belch that seemed to make his entire body shake with satisfaction, and pushed the wicker chair to its limit. He chuckled as he dreamily gazed over the stack of pamphlets, junk mail and papers to the pile of overflowing dirty dishes in the sink. The dozens of plates, bowls, glasses and coffee mugs were covered in stains ranging from dried egg, to baked beans, to macaroni and cheese. Many of the ones at the bottom of the heap even had weird green fuzz growing on them.
“In a couple of days I am going to have to do something about that,” he thought as he scratched his cheek with the overgrown, dirty fingernail of his pinky. “I am running out of damn plates-“
Then he stared at the trash can spilling over with cheap beer cans, frozen dinner containers and empty pizza boxes and shrugged his shoulders.
“I suppose next week I am going to have to sort that lot out also- I swear there is always something that needs doing.”
Several flies buzzed enthusiastically about the trash, and landed on the remains of a fast food cheeseburger lying on the linoleum next to the overflowing can.
“Oh well-a bit of dirt never hurt anyone,’ he considered as he pulled himself up from his chair and stretched. His body odor was proof that he had not showered in several days – and also an indication of how swelteringly hot that August was.
Suddenly one of the flies abandoned the decomposing remains of the fast food meal, and made his way towards him, circling over Wallace’s head. As he attempted unsuccessfully to catch it, he noticed something peculiar on the ceiling. Directly above his refrigerator, nestled against the peeling aqua blue 1970’s paint, was a saucer sized blob.
“What the?” he cried out loud
Wallace examined it for a moment,
“’That is the oddest thing I have ever seen,” he thought.
As he stared, slightly mesmerized, the blob seemed to pulsate. ‘Something else to add to my to-do list- a life as a sexy bachelor isn’t all it is cracked up to be.’ Again Wallace shrugged his shoulders.
He glanced at the clock in the microwave
‘Shit- I am going to be late again,’ he considered as he propelled himself out of the wicker chair, which seemed to groan in relief. Wallace made his way over the linoleum to the front room of his apartment. With each step the soles of his feet stuck against the flooring, and made a popping noise as he went- Sounding like plungers had been attached to his feet.
As he made his way into the carpeted front room, he reached down to the couch and picked up two mismatched brown socks that lay between an empty packet of pork rinds and a discarded can of diet soda. He raised the socks to his pudgy nose and keenly sniffed.
“Good for another couple of days,” he thought as he bent down and awkwardly slipped them onto to his feet.
Then he picked up from the stained carpet, a pair of triple extra large green overalls, and climbed into them, and zipped them up. Finally he put his size thirteen steel toed boots on and laced them up. Picking up a set of keys, he attached them to a loop on the overalls he made his way to the front door. Before going outside, and despite being late, he stopped of at a full length mirror hanging on the coat closet door.
“Now that’s a real man, and ladies just love a man in uniform” he thought as he studied the image of the three hundred and forty pound figure grinning back at him. He beamed with approval at his name embroidered into the left top of the overalls. Satisfied he made his way out of the apartment, and to his 1973 Chevrolet sedan.
“Another day as school janitor,” he thought as he placed the key into the ignition.
It was the next morning, as Wallace enjoyed his third cup of instant coffee from a beer stein he had won at an Oktoberfest (It was the only thing clean-) that his attention once more focused on the peculiar blob. Wallace, dressed as always in just his underwear, shook his head in amazement. The blob was now the size of a dinner plate, and the pulsating had intensified. As he watched, jaw agape, it jiggled like a bowl of cold rice pudding.
Feeling the typical morning pangs of hunger he slowly made his way over to the refrigerator, once more his bare feet stuck to the linoleum as he went. When he was in front of the refrigerator he looked up, directly below the blob, and for an instance he could have sworn that it some how looking at him. Then his stomach gurgled so, regaining focus, he opened the freezer and peered inside licking his pudgy lips greedily. The freezer was completely empty.
‘Bugger, let’s see what is in here,’ he thought as he closed the freezer and opened the refrigerator. Amongst the lager cans, three varieties of mustard, a carton of month old chop Suey and a decomposed orange,(at least he thought it was an orange-) he spied a package of hot dogs and buns.
“Bingo!” he said as he grabbed them. He placed three of the hot dogs and buns into the microwave and hit the ninety second button. As he waited for his breakfast to cook he examined the package of the hot dogs…He noticed that the dogs were five months past their expiration date. His stomach gurgled again,
“I’ll risk it,’ he thought as the scent of the hotdogs reached his nostrils.
His attention fell back to the packaging and he was just wondering what exactly ‘mechanically removed Pork and other meat products.’ was- when the microwave beeped.
Grabbing a bottle of Dijon mustard from the refrigerator, he replenished his beer stein with coffee, and eased himself into the wicker chair.
Within five minutes the meal was consumed. He once more rubbed his naked belly and was rewarded with an enormous belch.
Then, realizing that he was late again he repeated his daily routine of getting dressed, and raced out of the apartment.


It was shortly after midnight, when Wallace parked his Chevrolet in his assigned parking spot and came and entered his apartment. Switching on the light, he winked at himself in the mirror. He makes his way into the front room, and unties his boots. He sighed as he pulled them off. Next went the socks, which he casually threw onto his couch. Moments later, he was back in just his underwear and ready to devour his evening meal. He turned on his television set, and was amused as an old black and white science fiction was on.

Wallace, whistling cheerfully, made his way into the kitchen, and as soon as his bare feet left the carpet, and landed on the linoleum, the sucking noises returned as he wallowed along.

As he switched on the light, he noticed that the room now contained a hundred or more flies. His attention focused once more on the pile of dishes, and then to the trash can and he discovered the cause of the infestation. Dozens of maggots were wiggling contently as they munched the remains of the hamburger.

“Bugger!” he cried as he grabbed a newspaper and began to swat at the flies.

It was then he remembered the blob, and gazed up at the ceiling, still thrashing about the newspaper. But it was not there. His gaze scrutinized the entire ceiling. There were an abundance of cobwebs, thick dust on the fan blades, a few indescribable stains, a spider…But no blob.

He shrugged, tossed the newspaper onto the table, and made his way over to the refrigerator.

“I need a damned beer and food.”

It was on his third step that he realized that he had stepped into something; his left foot became entangled with something warm and mushy. He cried out in alarm, as he gazed downwards. His size thirteen foot was inside the blob. Wallace desperately tried to remove his foot, which now tingled. As he did so, he lost his balance, slipping back and landing with a wallop on the sticky linoleum floor. In the process the back of his head cracked against the kitchen chair, and he felt blood beginning to ooze.

As he lay there, almost naked on the sticky floor, he gazed at his feet, and noticed that the blob was gradually wiggling itself along his fat thighs, moving directly towards his face. He tried to fumble to his feet, yet somehow could not muster the strength. His head ached making him feel dizzy, and the blood as it spilled from his head covered his back. He looked about him, for something to brandish in his defense. There was nothing- absolutely nothing. Beginning to panic he looked at the blob, which was now on his underpants, almost at his belly. Then he noticed something more disturbing, within the blob he saw one eye staring back at him.

“Bugger!” he screamed again.

Wallace lay there, as the blob continued to move. It was on his belly, and it felt warm and sticky against his flesh. Then it was on his chest…Then it slowly, yet purposefully began to ease itself up Wallace’s unshaven face.

Wallace reached over with his hands and tried to remove it- But Within seconds, the blob had positioned itself directly over his nose and mouth- and Wallace found that he was suffocating.

That was when it happened. Wallace opened his mouth as wide as he could, and felt the warmth of blob on his tongue…Then he vigorously slammed his mouth shut. The blob flinched upward and Wallace was able to breathe in with his nose, as he began to chew.

‘Tastes rather like a beef liver Blancmange,’ Wallace thought as he masticated over the blob chunk.

The blob now began to move off his face, and onto the linoleum. Wallace suddenly feeling invigorated, sat upright, and grabbed the escaping blob with his oversized hands. He felt the blob writhe and squirm, yet Wallace’s grasp was suddenly strong. He opened his mouth and took another bite. By the fifth bite, the blob had stopped squirming and was limp in his hand, and beginning to get cold. However, Wallace’s appetite had just been wetted. Getting to his feet, he picked the cleanest dirty plate from the sink, and placed the blob on it. Then he opened the microwave and put it inside- and hit the three minute button. As the kitchen was filled with a curious, yet tantalizing, smell…Wallace licked his lips hungrily…

The end.

P.S. Gifford

P.S. Gifford is a published horror author of great talent. He started submitting stories around 2005. His short stories are by far some of the best and most entertaining that I have read. Around that time he was invited to write columns which are titled "Paperback Writer."

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