Marvin and the Moths

by Jonathan Follett

  “Bigoted?” Ahab asked.

  “Anti-insectian!” Abraham said.

  “I don’t think that’s a word,” Ahab said.

  Abraham continued, unfazed. “I mean, Ahab, you’re clearly big enough to wrestle an elephant into submission, but why would you? Unless it was simply to quench your bottomless hunger for blood and destruction!”

  “I don’t follow,” Ahab said, and scratched his head.

  “Or you, Aristotle,” Abraham said, whirling to face the tall, skinny moth. “You are certainly smart enough to rig up a contraption that could suck the fluids from the body of some poor victim, but to what end? Sure, your twisted sense of scientific curiosity knows no bounds or reason, but look at your spindly limbs—you’re far too feeble to subdue a wild beast. Why, you’d need an assistant to hold down your victims. An assistant powerful of body but possessing meager intelligence—” He gasped. “It’s the two of you together, isn’t it! A vampiric duo—and me, the patsy!”

  “Patsy? Well, I won’t argue with that last bit, you dolt,” Aristotle said.

  “What’s he talking about, Aristotle?” Ahab asked.

  “It seems our comrade believes that you and I are actually the Elephant Vampire,” Aristotle said. “That we are responsible for the terrifying rash of killings around Butcherville.”

  “That doesn’t sound like something I’d do,” Ahab said, puzzled.

  “No, my dear Ahab, you are far too gentle of heart to fit the profile,” Aristotle said. “The deeds of the Elephant Vampire could only have been carried out by a maleficent individual, steeped in hate and foul of breath. Driven to homicidal madness by a Napoleon complex caused by his own rage and self-loathing over his short stature.”

  “Hey, wait a second,” Abraham said, waggling a claw at the much taller moth. “I see where you’re going with this.”

  “Astonishing,” Aristotle said calmly. “I didn’t think you had the wit.”

  “Hey, relax, guys,” Ahab said, stepping between the two. “None of us is the Elephant Vampire.”

  “How can you be so sure?” Abraham said.

  “Because we’re all friends!” Ahab exclaimed cheerfully.

  “That makes no sense!” Abraham said, but his protests were soon squeezed out of him as Ahab embraced his fellow moths in a crushing group hug.

  “Good times,” Ahab said as he—eventually—released them. “I kind of miss Marvin, though. It’s sad we won’t see him anymore.”

  “If anyone’s a vampire, it’s that kid,” Abraham grumbled. “I mean, look how pasty he is. And that hair—you can tell he’s never looked in a mirror.”

  The moths continued moving boxes and furniture back through the hole in the wall from Marvin’s room to their own attic. Abraham carried a box full of Marvin’s wool sweaters into the room—“the spoils of war!” he had declared—and began sorting them by flavor and country of origin.

  Ahab came in carrying four overloaded boxes in his various arms. “Where should I put these?” he asked.

  “Just stick ’em anywhere,” Abraham said, not looking up from his unpacking.

  Ahab walked toward the dark corner farthest from Marvin’s room. “Should I put them here by the wall, or over here next to this great big pile of bones and skin?”

  “By the wall,” Abraham said. “Wait a minute. Bones and skin? What did you move those in here for?”

  “Let me see,” Aristotle said, putting down the TV he had been carrying with a loud thump. He walked over and peered at the pile of grisly remains. “Hmm. Murine. Feline. Vulpine. Canine. Porcine. Bovine. All desiccated.”

  “What, is the kid taking up taxidermy in his spare time?” Abraham asked.

  “I don’t think so, Abraham,” Ahab said, shaking his head slowly. “These carcasses were already here when we came back through the barricade.”

  “Well, who else but a taxidermist is going to suck all the blood out of someone and leave behind a dried-up corpse?” Abraham said.

  “Is it not obvious?” Aristotle said. “We are standing in the lair of the Elephant Vampire. He has been living under this very roof all along.”

  Ahab shrieked and fainted, cracking several low rafters and tearing a large hole through the roof as he fell backward.

  Aristotle sighed. The tall, thin moth then stooped over and examined what were apparently the Elephant Vampire’s personal effects. He picked up a large, clothbound volume from the floor.

  “Aha,” he said. “The Collected Works of Shakespeare. We are dealing with a sophisticated foe. I fear this will not be easy.”

  “Easy?” Abraham said. “What are you talking about? Running away and hiding is real easy!”

  Aristotle ignored him and continued his examination. Tucked into the pages of the book were two slips of paper. “The banquet scene from Macbeth,” Aristotle said, noting their location. “And look!” He held the makeshift bookmarks up to the light. They were Marvin’s missing tickets to the Harvest Dance. Words had been scrawled boldly across the face of one:

  The feast begins at eight o’clock!

  “So?” Abraham asked.

  “So, it is clear that the Elephant Vampire is headed for the school right now, and he intends to devour all the children—including our friend Marvin!”

  “You mean former friend,” Abraham said, folding both sets of arms. “Better him than me.”

  “Now that’s just mean,” said the giant Ahab, who was staggering to his feet. “He let us move into his room when we were all worried about the Elephant Vampire, and he’s been good about bringing us sweaters to eat, even if they are a little stale. I’m going to help him.”

  Ahab riffled through one of the boxes and pulled out his “Kiss the Cook—OF DEATH!” apron. He tied it around his enormous abdomen and began stuffing the pockets with weaponry: spatulas, whisks, a rotary egg beater, a can of nonstick Pork Spray, and some sharpened chopsticks.

  “Up, up, and away!” he shouted, running full tilt toward the new hole in the roof and leaping into the air. His flight ended with a loud crunch, as his body became lodged halfway through the too-small opening.

  “Well, that was anticlimactic,” Abraham said.

  “A little help down there?” Ahab said, his voice muffled. “I think I need a boost!”

  Aristotle sighed and shook his head. He wandered over to a corner and picked up a plunger. “This is good for getting clogs unstuck.” He placed the red rubber of the plunger against Ahab’s butt and began shoving vigorously until Ahab finally popped out the other side in a shower of splinters and roofing shingles. Aristotle and Abraham heard him clatter down the roof with a grunt and a cry of alarm before he got his wings going. Then they watched as the gargantuan moth buzzed unsteadily off into the moonlight.

  “Hmm,” Aristotle said, examining the newly enlarged hole in the roof. “An interesting turn of events. Yes, it should be big enough now.” He dragged his spaghetti-strainer catapult across the floor and shoved it through the hole, climbing out after it.

  “What the heck are you doing?” Abraham asked. “We don’t need to store that thing outside. There’s plenty of room in here.”

  Aristotle looked back at him. “You may not understand this, being the intellectually bereft tyrant that you are, but as a creature of science, I need to know that my invention works. And this battle is the perfect test case. At last, I shall face a foe worthy of my genius. Plus, I am worried about Ahab. And Marvin.” He raised his wings into position. “I bid you a less-than-fond farewell.” He flew off into the night, though perhaps less gracefully than he would have liked, weighed down as he was by his siege engine.

  “Thanks for leaving me in the Elephant Vampire lair alone! Maybe to die! Alone!” Abraham stuck his head through the hole in the roof. “Did you hear me? Hello? I’m berating you!” He grabbed an old wooden baseball bat and then jumped out and took wing after them. “You won’t get rid of me that easy! I’m not through with you yet!”

  As Marvin, dry for the first time in
hours, walked back into the cafetorium, he saw that Mrs. Goudy was standing on the dais, talking to the DJ. The DJ nodded and picked up his microphone as the song ended.

  “Okay, little party people!” he said, getting the room’s attention. “This is it! The moment you’ve all been waiting for! It’s time to rock and roll your body and soul, to gather round and get down—there’s gonna be uproarium in the cafetorium when we crown the Harvest King and Queen!”

  The kids drew in around the dais, murmuring in excitement. Marvin stopped off at the back table for another glass of punch and then stood at the outer edge of the crowd.

  “Now, listen up, you groovy cats and catstresses! Er, kittens. Whatever! Let me turn the mic over to your mistress of ceremonies!” the DJ continued. “That’s right! It’s gonna get rowdy, ’cause here’s Chrysanthemum Goudy!”

  “You don’t need to do that,” Mrs. Goudy said as she took the microphone. “I really don’t care for nonsensical chatter. Words should mean something. Just do your job.”

  “Yes, ma’am!” the DJ said with the same smile and enthusiasm.

  “While, intellectually, I am opposed to this entire evening,” Mrs. Goudy announced to the crowd, “I will complete my duties as your head chaperone to demonstrate how responsible adults should behave.”

  She looked over a list in her hand. “Let’s have all the nominees come up. First, we have Amber Bluestone, accompanied by Stephen Upton Jr.”

  There was applause and wild hooting and hollering from Stevie and Amber’s friends. Marvin watched the crowd part as the couple made their way up to the stage, waving and smiling as if they had already won. Then he felt someone seize his arm in a painful, vise-like grip. It was Roland Offenbach, Stevie’s enforcer. “Cheer for Stevie, or you’ll be wearing that punch,” he said.

  “Normally, I might refuse, but I just spent two hours drying my suit,” Marvin said. He cradled his glass of punch in the crook of his arm and clapped politely, glancing nervously over at Roland.

  Mrs. Goudy went on. “Next, we have Tilly Hoefecker, accompanied by Cary Papadopolis.” More cheers came from the crowd.

  Roland looked over at Marvin. “You can stop cheering now,” he said.

  “You know, I’m not some cheer machine you can just turn on and off at will,” Marvin said.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Roland asked, frowning.

  “Exactly,” Marvin said.

  “Just watch yourself, Watson,” Roland said. He put two fingers to his own glaring eyes and then pointed them at Marvin, before turning and walking up closer to the stage.

  “That’s you watching me,” Marvin said, “not me watching my—oh, forget it.”

  Onstage, Mrs. Goudy continued to read the names of the court. “Felicity Rushmore, accompanied by Paul Thackerman,” she said. When the clapping died down, she added, “And, lastly, Fatima Curie, accompanied by …” Mrs. Goudy paused as Fatima ran up to the stage, hurriedly whispering something to her. The librarian nodded, then said, “Fatima Curie.” Fatima strode confidently around the front of the dais to the steps, waving to the people and smiling.

  Marvin began to feel a bit sheepish at leaving Fatima to face this alone. He looked around at the crowd. Few were cheering. Most chuckled and giggled. Marvin clapped loudly and cheered, “Woo-hoo!” But up on stage, Fatima didn’t quite know how to take his enthusiasm; mostly, it seemed to remind her that he had abandoned her, and her beauty-queen smile became strained.

  “Let’s hear a round of applause for your Harvest Dance Court,” Mrs. Goudy said. “And although only one couple will be crowned king and queen of this Paleolithic popularity contest, I want to say that you are all kings and queens in my book.”

  “Books are for losers!” Roland shouted. “Get to the point!”

  “Yeah, if we could speed things along, that would be great,” Stevie said. “I’ve got a victory party to get to after this and a ribbon-cutting with the mayor tomorrow!”

  Mrs. Goudy narrowed her eyes at him but continued in her duties. “Very well,” she said as she opened an envelope containing the winners’ names. “The king and queen of this year’s Harvest Dance are—”

  The room fell silent. Amber reached her hands out expectantly to receive her award.

  “—Stephen Upton Jr. and Amber Bluestone!” Mrs. Goudy finished. “Well that’s a surprise,” she muttered.

  Mrs. Goudy placed the tiara in Amber’s hair, and the crown atop Stevie’s head. Amber hugged each of the other nominees, and Marvin saw that Fatima’s smile looked even more strained.

  “Now,” Mrs. Goudy said, “the king, queen, and their Harvest Court will dance to a soulful rendition of our school fight song—successfully lobbied against and changed by yours truly into a safety message, and sponsored, despite my protests, by Pork Loaf International …” She paused to take a breath. “A song led by three-time regional runner-up for that inane television reality show where they all sing—our own Christina Carlucci!” She handed the microphone over to a wholesome-looking girl with long, curly hair, and the DJ cued up the backing track, which was the melody to “America (My Country, ’Tis of Thee)”:

  Butcherville Middle School,

  Obey the cardinal rule:

  Keep hands inside!

  When you are on the bus

  Don’t get your hands cut off;

  You’ll cause an awful fuss.

  Please buy Pork Loaf!

  The students stood at attention, their hands over their hearts, surrounding the dance floor where Stevie, Amber, and the other couples stepped and swayed to the music, which was totally unsuited to dancing. Fatima stood by herself, twirling idly in circles, as she had no dance partner. Her forced smile gradually gave way to a look of utter dejection.

  As the song ended, Mrs. Goudy once again took up the microphone. “And now, I’d like to introduce a woman who stands in opposition to everything I believe,” she said. “To present our winners with a special prize, here is the reigning Miss Pork Loaf USA, Crystal Sherwood.”

  “Thank you for that warm introduction,” Crystal said breathlessly, leaning into the microphone. “It is my honor to present our king and queen with this Porkucopia, filled with enriched meat products, each of which I fully endorse. May your reign be marked by peace and justice, and the American way.” The students cheered as the blonde pageant winner handed Stevie and Amber the three-foot-long horn of plenty, which was overflowing with cans of various Pork Loaf products. “And now,” Crystal continued, “my trusty assistant will hand out summer sausages to the runners-up.” The beauty queen turned to Mrs. Goudy.

  “I’d really rather not,” the librarian said, eyeing the second-place prizes. “I’m a vegetarian. I’m doing all I can not to gag here.” But Miss Pork Loaf USA raised a perfectly groomed eyebrow at her, and Mrs. Goudy sighed and did her duty. She passed a plastic-wrapped, foot-long sausage to each of the remaining candidates. She came to Fatima last. “Since you don’t have an escort, you can have two, dear,” she said.

  “I don’t even want one,” Fatima said as she accepted the two hunks of cured, shelf-stable meat and walked off in a daze. She pushed through the crowd and headed across the room, then sat in a folding chair far away from the action, where she could be alone. She took little notice of Lee, who was glumly eyeing the hors d’oeuvre table—everything was made of Pork Loaf, so there was nothing for him to eat—or of Marvin, who watched the two of them from the edge of the crowd, unsure of what he should do to make things right.

  Back on the stage, Stevie took the microphone to give his acceptance speech. “My fellow middle schoolerians,” he began. “Our town has been through a tough time lately. I, myself, was forced to take a difficult journey. To walk through the valley of the smell of death. But I have come through to the other side”—some heads in the crowd began to nod—“stronger than before!” Stevie said, louder.

  It was true, Marvin had to admit to himself: Stevie had come out of it all smelling like a rose. How could it be that two
people, both from the same family, could have lives that followed such different trajectories? While Marvin’s own fortunes were at their lowest point, he stood and watched his cousin glory in his seemingly inevitable triumph.

  “And you, too, have walked a difficult road these many weeks!” Stevie continued. “Difficult not only for the absence of our guidance, but because you were forced to live under the cruel reign of the Elephant Vampire. You faced a threat, not only to your lives, but to your deepest principles. In that dark hour, you looked to the skies for deliverance, and you saw us! In this, our coronation, you have found your new hope!”

  He paused to bask in the cheers and adulation of his subjects. “As your new king, I promise you not just better days for all, but better days for some!” Stevie waited for the applause to die down, and continued more quietly, as if confiding in the crowd. “You see, somewhere along the line, we lost our way. That is why we must return to the values of our forefathers, who didn’t judge a man’s worth by his accomplishments, or by how much he knew, but by how popular he was!”

  The crowd cheered again. “The way will not be easy. It will require much sacrifice—mostly by you! Separately, our selfish endeavors mean nothing, but together, our selfish endeavors mean everything! I leave you with this thought: Benevolence is overrated, but a lifetime is forever! Thank you.”

  “‘A lifetime is forever,’” Marvin muttered. “Yeah, especially when it’s filled with shame and ridicule. And wrinkly clothes.”

  In the back of the room, Lee sneered at Little Stevie’s speech. “‘The absence of your guidance’?” he said, to no one in particular. “It was only last week you were looking to me for guidance.”

  Just then, Olivia Muntz—one of his former Odiferous Needs classmates—walked up to the hors d’oeuvre table to get some punch.

  “Hey, Olivia,” Lee said. “Some speech, huh?” Olivia barely glanced at him as he spoke. The music kicked up again, and the rest of the kids started to dance.