Get Ready with Me
There are two kinds of surprise.
The first kind is the one we’re used to, that common sensation of our body flinching in a split-second reaction to some abrupt stimulation.
This feeling is usually followed by a glorious release, our brain catching up and making sense of the brand-new world.
It might not be a good world, as there are plenty of unfortunate surprises, but that little moment of clarity prompts a release all the same.
The second kind of surprise is when the stimulation is much more profound, when the shock is not something we can simply readjust to. It’s a fundamental shift, and no amount of clarity can help.
Our body holds on to these second moments—moments like this one, where time slows down and the world seems to vanish. It tucks them away without catharsis or recalibration, calcifying them in our depths for years and years.
Still, regardless of how deeply these emotional tectonic plates rumble and shift, that initial shock needs somewhere to go.
As I gaze up at Eddie Michaels, this hero of mine who has transformed into both a horrific monster and my own father over the course of a single night, I let out my initial shock in a surprising way. I start to laugh.
“You don’t believe me?” Eddie asks.
I shake my head, waving away the suggestion. It takes me a moment to collect myself, but when I finally quell the maniacal cackling, I admit the exact opposite.
“It’s not that,” I reply. “I’m laughing because I know you’re telling the truth.”
We’re two sharks, after all, driven to swim forever and gobble up as many fish as we can. Now that I think about it, this whole thing would be much stranger if we weren’t related. Until tonight, I’d never met someone as ruthless as me.
“You just … gave me up?” I ask, the words tumbling out of my mouth before my mind can formulate a concrete plan.
“It’s not like that, sport,” Eddie says. “I needed options. I’m not interested in raising kids, I’m interested in being a kid.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” I shout, much more emotion behind the words than intended. I realize now that tears are streaming down my face.
Eddie hesitates, glancing over his shoulder at the bedroom where Mary, his next victim, waits in a state of pheromone-induced paralysis. He’s eager to get back to work.
“Entertain me!” I scream with enough fury to yank back his attention.
Eddie cracks his neck from side to side and then straightens up a bit. “Alright then.” He clears his rattling throat.
“A long, long time ago, about seventeen hundred years now, a guest arrived here from a distant world. Not distant in terms of space, but something much more profound,” Eddie explains.
“This guest wasn’t used to being alone. In fact, they couldn’t survive on their own.
So they went out looking for a … friend, someone they could enjoy the company of for a whole lifetime.
“The thing is, it was very difficult for the guest to make friends. Friends in this world just weren’t built for the guest, not like they were back home.
The guest searched and searched and searched, and every time they tried to make a new friend, that friend would get sick and go away.
The guest was weak back then. They weren’t meant to survive very long without a friend.
“But one day, by total chance, the guest made a friend who matched him just enough. That friend got very sick, like the others, but he didn’t die. Eventually, the friend started getting stronger and stronger as his body adapted. He had good genes. You know who else had good genes?” Eddie asks.
I shake my head. “No. Who?”
“The friend’s daughter,” Eddie replies. “That daughter’s son had good genes, too, and many years later, the daughter’s son’s son had even better genes. In fact, every generation was easier for the guest to make friends with.”
“So that’s all I am?” I blurt. “The host you’ve prepared?”
“Twelve,” Eddie states flatly.
“What?” I huff.
“You have twelve siblings,” he explains. “It used to be thirteen siblings, but one of them died–your backup here in Palm Springs. So as far as viable, close options, you’re pretty much all I’ve got.”
“You don’t have twelve kids,” I counter. “I know everything about you.”
“Well, clearly not everything,” Eddie laughs.
“I guess not.”
“Anyway, you’re half right, sport,” Eddie continues.
“I have no kids … that the public knows about. I stopped trying to raise my own future hosts like five hundred years ago. It’s nice having a fresh body right there when you need it, but it’s also an absolute shitshow.
Big, big feelings. Plus, you usually end up married to your own son-or daughter-in-law, which is awkward if you know them already. ”
I shake my head, utterly confused. “What the hell does that even mean?”
“Think about it,” he replies. “After you become your own offspring, you can either keep up appearances, wade through a messy divorce, or someone has a terrible accident cleaning grandpa’s hunting rifle. Regardless, it’s much easier to avoid getting chummy with your new outfit.”
“Your child,” I correct him.
Eddie shrugs. “Sure. Technically speaking, it’s my body’s kid, but whatever.”
As bizarre as it sounds, the one thing that sticks with me through this cascade of mind-bending revelations has nothing to do with me—at least, not directly.
I can’t help thinking of my favorite Eddie Michaels live performance, the one that my group home somehow had an old VHS tape of.
It was recorded directly off a television broadcast in the late ’90s, when Eddie performed “A Star Like Me” at the Grammy Awards.
There’s a moment in that performance that I’ll always remember.
During the show, Eddie looked directly into the camera and belted out the line one day you’ll be up here and I’ll be watching you, and when that happened I remember feeling the power of entertainment in a way I’d never experienced.
I felt like I was connecting to someone through time and space, cosmically tethered in a way that went far beyond science and logic.
Tethered by art.
“So this was all just … a way to survive?” I ask.
Eddie tilts his head back and lets out a loud, singular “Ha!” It’s one of the most abbreviated yet effective laughs I’ve ever heard.
“Have you been listening to me at all tonight?” Eddie snarls, disappointment searing his tongue.
“Survival is nothing without art, without entertainment! I have always been a star, and with your help, I’ll keep shining. So will you.”
“You’re a monster,” I retort, not entirely sure how to frame my thoughts but plowing ahead anyway. “Why would you care about entertaining peop—”
“Let me stop you right fucking there,” Eddie snaps.
“I’ve seen enough science fiction and horror in my day, and I’ll tell you one thing that everybody gets wrong …
where are all the goddamn hobbies? Does every single swamp creature just eat people all day?
Does every single alien just colonize planets?
Sure, I’m tryin’a stay alive here, but when you’ve been around as long as I have, you start to realize there’s so much more to life than the struggle. I was born to entertain, sport.
“And sure, there are new things to learn with every generation. New media, new technology. TikTok, ugh. Fortunately, you’ve already got a head start, and once I’m at the helm, we can turn those followers of yours into an actual career.”
Eddie takes a long pause. I can’t see his eyes behind the sunglasses, but I’ve been leered at enough times to know that his gaze is wandering.
“Traditional beauty goes a long, long way,” he finally says, more to himself than to me. “This’ll be a fun couple of decades!”
Eddie makes a single clap with his hands, announcing an end to our conversation.
“That’s all, folks!” he chirps.
“Wait! Wait!” I cry, but Eddie doesn’t listen. He turns and lopes away, heading for the bedroom.
I instinctively tug against my handcuffs, metal and wood clattering in a frantic cacophony.
From here, I can see through the open door, a direct line of sight to Eddie and his victim.
Mary stands up, greeting Eddie warmly. At first, she’s wearing a T-shirt and underwear, but she strips them off and tosses them to the side.
She’s completely naked now, standing at attention as Eddie gives his quiet instruction.
I pull the handcuffs even harder, the metal digging into my flesh and causing a terrible sting of pain to rocket up my arm.
“No! Wait!” I shriek.
Eddie completely ignores me, his attention elsewhere. He hands Mary the hooked pruning knife and she accepts it with a thankful nod. Without hesitation, she takes the knife and—
My eyes break away, unable to watch the mutilation as a nauseous wave hits me. I realize now that my breathing is twice as fast as it should be.
When I finally muster up the strength to look back, I’m greeted by a sight even more terrible than the one I expected.
Mary Fimi has successfully carved off a huge strip of her own skin, the dermis peeled away in a curling pink flap that’s approximately the width of her knife blade and longer than a foot.
She’s still smiling, but tears are streaming down her face as her body reacts to an experience that her mind is not yet fully allowed to grapple with.
It’s not just the flaying that prompts my revulsion, though. Mary has handed one end of the bloody strip to Eddie, and although he’s mostly facing away from me, I can still tell what he’s doing by the movement of his head and the position of her arm.
As if psychically aware of my observation, Eddie turns his head slightly, and I can see the crimson flap dangling from his lips as he chews and chews and chews.
Eddie is eating her skin.
“Oh my fucking God,” I gasp, unable to keep the words from tumbling out.
Is that what he’ll do to me?