Yep, you read that right. And no, I’m not schizophrenic. At least, I don’t think I am. You’re probably wondering how I ended up in such a pickle. Well, strap up. It’s going to be a bumpy ride.
I woke up last Saturday morning (noon counts as the morning, right?) with a particular hankering for cinnamon rolls. I wearily trudged into the kitchen, stomach growling in anticipation of that sweet fluffy goodness. I prepped the oven and heaved the cylindrical container out of the refrigerator.
“Ugh, why is this so heavy?”
I flipped it over and read the words imprinted on the bottom.
Congratulations! You won!
“Great. They probably stuffed some stupid promotional toy in here.”
I rolled my eyes and prepared to unveil whatever lay inside. Now, if you’re not familiar with how the cinnamon roll containers work, most people smack them against a counter or other hard surface to break them open. I did exactly that.
Thwack.
“Ow! What the hell did you do that for!” a tiny high-pitched voice wailed from inside the package.
“What the fu-”
I dropped the tube in shock.
“For fuck’s sake, would you be gentle? I’m not a damn ragdoll!”
My eyes grew wide as dinner plates as a white mass began ballooning from the container. I slapped myself. Nope, I wasn’t dreaming. The thing continued to inflate, growing bigger and bigger, until it tore free from its confinement, revealing itself. I couldn’t believe my eyes. Before me on my kitchen floor, at a whopping nine inches tall, stood the Pillsbury Doughboy. He beamed up at me with his beady blue eyes and toothless grin.
“Thanks for releasing me. It was cramped in there, he he.”
“U-uh, you’re welcome? I’m so confused. How are you real?”
“Your guess is as good as mine. Last thing I remember is some asshole stuffing me into that container, then weeks of darkness.”
A shiver tremored his bite-sized body.
“Anyway, what’s your name?”
“Um, I’m Jimmy.”
“Nice to meet you, Jimmy. The name’s Fresh.”
“Pleasure,” I said, softly pinching his extended nub in a makeshift handshake.
“Got anything to eat? I’m starving.”
I cooked breakfast for the two of us, and we got to chatting. It took some time for me to realize that this wasn’t just some crazy fever dream. Fresh was real. And before you say it, yes, I do have a functioning carbon monoxide detector.
Fresh and I lounged around the house for the rest of the day, watching Netflix and getting acquainted with one another. At first, it was kind of nice. It was like having a miniature roommate. When it was time to call it a night, I constructed a bed on my nightstand for Fresh out of a shoebox and a couple discarded T-shirts I’d grown out of. He claimed one of my matchless socks as a pillow.
“Goodnight, Jimmy. Thanks for being such a stand-up guy, he he.”
“Any time, buddy. Goodnight,” I said as I turned out the light.
Sunday was more of the same. Fresh and I hung out and relaxed, just enjoying each other’s company. I went to bed that night with a sense of fulfillment I hadn’t experienced in a long time. Fresh was the friend I didn’t know I’d needed.
I awoke Monday morning to my blaring alarm. Seven o’clock. I must’ve hit snooze one too many times. I scrambled out of bed, haphazardly throwing my clothes on. I burst out my door, and rushed into the kitchen to grab a quick bite to eat. The kitchen was absolutely wrecked.
It looked like a tornado had crashed through in the middle of the night. Pots and pans were strewn everywhere, baking soda caked the counter, and a mystery liquid coated the floor. Cabinets and drawers hung open. A burning odor assaulted my nostrils. And at the center of the mayhem, stood Fresh. He smirked at me, evidently proud of his destructive attempt at cooking breakfast.
“Fresh, what the hell! You completely obliterated the kitchen!”
“You ungrateful prick. Do you know how long it took me to- uh um, I mean, sorry for the mess. I made you breakfast, he he.”
“You made me one egg! Was this really worth it?”
He sighed.
“I’m sorry, Jimmy. I’ll clean it up. Just please eat it.”
“Look, I’d love to, but I don’t have ti-”
“Eat. The egg. Jimmy.”
The menacing inflection in his tone twisted my stomach into knots. His permanent smile had warped into an unsettling frown. Those icy marble eyes glared up at me expectantly. Something told me that I shouldn’t eat that egg.
“I’ll, uh, have it later. I’m late for work. See you tonight!” I blubbered as I hurried out the door.
Fresh scowled at me all the while. His countenance portrayed a loathing hatred. I tried to push it to the back of my mind as I raced to work. I was being silly. How much damage could a doll-sized pastry mascot really inflict?
Upon arriving at work, I received a verbal lashing from my superior. I’d been five minutes late. Big deal. I muddled through the rest of the day the best that I could. I tried to stay busy, but I just couldn’t keep my mind off of Fresh. Maybe I’d really hurt his feelings. He did put a lot of effort into making me breakfast, after all, even if it was just one runny undercooked egg.
I stopped at Panda Express on my way home. I was planning to give Fresh a nugget of orange chicken as a peace offering. I pushed open the back door, takeout in hand, and proudly marched up to the little guy. He was pouting, dangling his legs from the stovetop. His puffy chef’s hat drooped deflatedly on his head. Beside him, sat that same cold untouched egg.
“Fresh, I bought us Panda Express for dinner. You like chicken, right?”
“I guess. Can you please eat the egg I made for you, Jimmy? I put a lot of work into it. I cleaned the kitchen like you wanted too.”
I looked around for the first time since I’d made it home. He was right. The kitchen was spotless. I’d never seen it so clean.
“Tell you what. I’ll save it in the fridge, and eat it first thing tomorrow. Deal?”
He perked up, wide doughy smile returning to his round face.
“Deal! You’re the best, he he.”
With Fresh back to his old chipper self, the tension faded, and we enjoyed our evening. I turned on Breaking Bad, a show that he really seemed to enjoy, and melted into the couch. Then, without warning, my stomach began gurgling. Panda Express suddenly didn’t seem like such a good idea.
I darted to the bathroom, and my bowels released their ungodly wrath onto my poor toilet. It was a messy clean-up job. Needless to say, the toilet was reluctant to accept the contents that had amassed inside it.
Fortunately, I had the perfect home remedy. Hot water and dish soap would have it right as rain in no time. I shuffled to the kitchen and began rummaging underneath the sink in search of the Dawn. And then I saw it.
The rat poison I’d purchased the previous winter was tipped onto its side. Suddenly it all made sense. Why Fresh was so upset about the egg. White-hot rage enveloped me, and I stormed into the living room.
“H-hey, Jimmy. Everything okay with the- ah!”
I aggressively snatched Fresh’s leg and dragged him into the kitchen. He flailed every stubby appendage at his disposal, spewing curses the whole way.
“Let go of me, you stupid sack of shit! I fucking hate you! Go to Hell, you ugly bitch!”
His eyes grew wide when he realized where we were headed. His tone instantly changed, fear overwhelming him.
“No, please, Jimmy don’t! I’m sorry! You don’t have to do this!”
Slam.
I chucked him into the oven, and flung the door shut.
“Please! Jimmy, I didn’t do it! Let me out, I’m begging you!”
He was sobbing, ramming his puny body into the door in a futile attempt to escape. A twinge of guilt stung my heart like a porcupine quill. What if it was just a coincidence? What if Fresh really was innocent?
“Jimmy… please. I didn’t do anything,” he whimpered as he slumped to the crumb-coated oven floor.
“You… you promise?”
“Yes, Jimmy, I promise! I don’t know why you’re doing this.”
His muffled cries broke me.
“Cross your heart and hope to die, there was nothing in that egg?”
“No, I just wanted to do something nice for you!”
I reluctantly caved in.
“Alright, I believe you. But give me any reason to think you’re lying, and I’ll throw you back in here faster than you can count to three.”
“I can’t count to three, Jimmy. I didn’t go to school.”
“Oh, right. Sorry about that,” I said, as the oven door creaked open.
Fresh stood there, rubbing the tears from his eyes. He looked so pitiful. I scooped him up and carried him back to the couch, placing him on his favorite pillow.
“Next episode of Breaking Bad?” he squeaked, curling into his spot.
“Yeah, buddy. That sounds great.”
We continued watching TV until Fresh’s eyes grew heavy. He eventually dozed off, light snores tugging at my heartstrings. I gently picked him up and wisped him off to bed. We both snuggled under our respective covers as I reached for the light.
“Goodnight, Fresh.”
“Goodnight, Jimmy,” he mumbled groggily, as he rolled onto his side.
I was jolted awake by a searing pain in my neck. My eyes shot open just as something sharp clattered to the floor. Fresh was facing the wall, snoring exaggeratedly loudly. I balled my fists, and hoisted him over my shoulder. I began stomping to the kitchen.
“Jimmy, what the fuck are you doing? Where are we going, you asshole? Let me go, you fat son of a bitch!”
“I told you what would happen. And I can feel you trying to bite me back there. You don’t have teeth, dipshit.”
“It’s the principal of it, you moron. Put me down, you cock-sucking fuck-face!”
“Put you down? Oh, I’ll put you down,” I seethed as I slung him into the cabinet under the sink.
Crash.
“Ow! Fuck you, you psycho!”
“I’m the psycho? You’ve tried to murder me twice, you little maniac!”
“I didn’t, I swear!”
“Oh, really. Then who just tried to stab me in my sleep, huh?”
Silence. I had to think quickly. I pressed my weight against the cabinet doors, while I scoured in the drawers above. I promptly found what I was looking for. Zip-ties. I binded the doors together, praying they would hold.
“You can’t keep me in here, Jimmy. I’ll break this fucking door down if I have to.”
“Oh yeah? Try me.”
Fresh slammed his weight against the door. It budged about an inch, but the zip-ties immediately flung it back into place. I wasn’t taking any chances. I trotted to the garage, returning with my power drill. I let it whir a couple times to intimidate the tiny monster.
“J-Jimmy? What are you going to-”
I drowned him out, drilling a couple screws into each cabinet door.
“Try breaking out of that ya fucker.”
I crossed my arms, impressed with my handiwork, and returned to bed. Fresh whimpered apologies, until he finally accepted defeat. Almost.
“Jimmy, please let me out. Please.”
“Nope, goodnight.”
The house was blissfully silent once again.
“Ah! Ah! I think there’s a spider in here! I’m so sorry, Jimmy, please!”
“Good, it can keep you company. Now, shut up. I’m trying to sleep.”
I was eventually lulled to dreamland by Fresh’s panicked wails. I awoke feeling rejuvenated. I slept better than I had in years. I prepared for work, and strolled into the kitchen.
“Sleep well, ya little demon?”
“No. No thanks to you, you rat bastard.”
“Good. I’m going to work. Maybe try to tidy up while I’m gone. You made quite the mess in there yesterday,” I smirked as I grabbed my keys.
“Screw you, Jimmy. Eat shit.”
I was having an incredible day at work. I arrived early for once, my boss complimented my tie, and the cute receptionist I’d been crushing on agreed to dinner and a movie that upcoming weekend. I was on cloud nine. When it came time to leave, I found myself almost reluctant to go. Until I remember what, or should I say who, awaited me at home.
I skipped into the kitchen, itching to gloat about my day. My jolly demeanor instantly shattered. A deep-seated sense of dread settled into my gut. The cabinet doors leading beneath the sink were hanging on by a thread… and Fresh was nowhere to be found.
I checked every nook and cranny in my home, but apparently he’s a master of hide-and-seek. I’m typing this from a hotel room. I don’t know what to do. I can’t call the cops, and I certainly can’t stay here forever. The steak-knife is trembling in my grip. I can’t take my eyes off the bathroom door, because I can’t be sure, but I swear I can hear that all too familiar giggling emanating from within.