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  • K. Lucas

Puss

You’d think that by now I’d be used to 3 AM wake-ups from a spiteful octopus. Somehow, the banging of his tentacles against the glass of his tank isn’t something I’ve grown accustomed to, despite how frequently he does this. I’m late for his feeding again. We both know it. “I’ll feed you in the morning,” I say, rolling to my other side, trying to ignore him.


I can feel him watching me. His suckers grip the glass and for a moment, I think he would eat me if he could get out. Why did I put his tank in my bedroom? “All right, all right,” I say. Sighing, I get up.


Last night was long. There was a bigger mess than normal. It took hours to cut her body into small enough chunks for him to eat. By the time I was done cutting, storing the meat, and scrubbing everything up, I’d completely forgotten his meal. It’s not as easy as it would seem to lure bait in. Especially not human bait. His favorite.

In the kitchen, I open the deep freezer and reach in to grab one of the prepared baggies. I rub my eyes, trying to clear the sleepy haze. I’m too tired to be doing this right now but I’ve learned from experience that good ole Puss will bang on his tank until I comply. I trip on the kitchen rug, almost falling, but I catch myself just in time. “You better enjoy this!” I yell at Puss from across the house.

Back in the bedroom, I slip the top off his tank. He’s waiting patiently in the corner. “Enjoy, buddy.” I dump his dinner inside, scattering the pieces. I crawl back into bed and it doesn’t take long for sleep to find me again.

I open my eyes to a pitch black room. It’s not morning yet. Something is moving on the blankets. Shit! I sit up in bed, looking at Puss’s tank. I left the lid off. My blankets move again. I feel a weight on top of my legs. I jerk back, frantic. I move my blankets around, desperate to see for myself.

Most probably wouldn’t be worried about an octopus, but most don’t know my octopus. This is Puss. He’s… evil.


Something slimy and wet grips my leg. Oh, God! I can feel his tentacles sucking onto my skin. I shake my leg, trying to get him off. I throw the blankets off the bed and he’s there, looking at me with those black eyes. “Puss! Get off!” I wail.


He seems to thrive on my panic. He begins to climb up my body. I thrash, rolling out of bed, trying to pry him off with my hands, but he continues upwards. When he stops, he’s on top of my abdomen, gripping me like a vice. “Puss, please!” I beg. But it’s too late. He digs into my flesh with his sharp beak and begins feasting on my insides.

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