The Man with the Gaping Maw

A little pacifist made of clay encounters a baby-eating cryptid and tries to reason with it. Bloodshed ensues.

Part I

There once was an old sculptor who loved all living beings, and from this love, he sought to create statues in what he perceived to be nature’s perfect image.  Every morning, he would water his garden and feed the animals who lived there.  Then, in the afternoon and evening, he would toil away at his craft, but his efforts would inevitably end in frustration, as he could never produce anything that could rival the inherent beauty of the natural world.

One day, he was watering his plants when he stumbled across a glittering, multicolored stone lying at the roots of his bushes.  He picked it up, and as he held it aloft, the sunlight reflecting off of its curves made it all the more marvelous to behold, as if it had captured all of the colors of the rainbow within it, forever to be admired.  Sighing to himself, he muttered, “I wish I could make something as wonderful as this.”  Scarcely had the words escaped his lips when he was struck by a flash of inspiration.  With the exuberance of a child he dashed to his workshop, and there he pulled out a great slab of clay.  Then, for two restless days and a sleepless night, he worked with unprecedented fervor, until his masterpiece was complete.  At last, what stood before him was a little clay man, no more than four feet tall, with little carved dimples, red-painted cheeks, and eyes that shimmered like those of a baby.  When the sculptor finally stood back and surveyed his creation as a whole, he was stunned by how real it seemed, but he was too tired to consider it further.  He collapsed from exhaustion and slept on the floor for sixteen hours.

When he awoke the next morning, the sculptor found the little clay man standing beside him.  “Hello, good sir,” he squeaked.  “Am I to believe that you are my creator?”  At this, the sculptor jumped to his feet and bolted across the room in a panic.  “Oh, I’m sorry if I frightened you!” said the little clay man.  “I didn’t want to disturb you until you awoke!”  

The sculptor considered his progeny for a moment, and seeing how polite he seemed, he put himself a bit more at ease.  “How…?” he asked, “How are you alive?”

The little clay man shrugged.  “I was hoping you could tell me that, sir,” he said.

The sculptor thought for a moment.  “The stone!” he exclaimed, realizing that in his haste, he had dropped it in his garden.  Rushing back to his bushes, the sculptor scoured the grass for what he had lost, but to no avail. After many hours of searching, he resigned himself to the truth, realizing that it had been two days since he had seen it last, and it could have gone anywhere in that time.

Eventually, the little clay man arrived at the sculptor’s doorway.  “Is there anything I can help you with, sir?” he asked.

“No, no…it’s alright,” the sculptor replied.  “There’s…no way to know if that silly little rock did it, anyway,” he mumbled to himself.  “What’s your name?” the sculptor asked, eager to change the subject.

The little clay man screwed up his face a bit.  “I don’t think I have one,” he said.

“Well, what would you like to be called?” asked the sculptor.

The little clay man pondered this for a while.  “Rufus Finkelheimer!” he declared.  And so it was.

For several months afterward, the sculptor housed Rufus, gave him fine clothes to wear over his painted ones, instilled him with his love for all living things, and taught him about the world at large, which Rufus yearned to see for himself.  After many more months of begging, the sculptor finally decided that Rufus was ready to travel the world alone.  As Rufus left, the sculptor said to him, “I have taught you many things, but you may learn in no better environment than the wide world, for the universe is the greatest teacher.  Remember to learn from your experiences, but above all else, preserve your values: your kindness, your integrity, and your love for all living things, for these, far more so than the clay from which I sculpted you, make you who you truly are.”  With these final words, Rufus departed down the long country road ahead of him, and as he vanished over the horizon, the sculptor let drop two tears from his eyes: one of joy, and one of sorrow.

Shortly after his home disappeared behind him, Rufus came upon a coniferous forest.  “Oh, how marvelous!” he crooned as he wandered deeper into the woods.  “I’ve seen so many paintings of trees such as these, but I never imagined just how grand they would be, so close up…oh, what’s this?” he asked as he picked a strange brown object up off of the ground.  “Why, this must be…a pinecone!  Yes, and a fine one too, at that.  Oh, but this one is even nicer!  As is this one!”  And so Rufus became distracted, until he had collected more exquisite pinecones than he could feasibly carry, and was forced by cruel, unfeeling fate to laboriously decide upon a single, favorite pinecone to take with him.  “Ah, my creator would love to see this!” he continued.  “Or perhaps I should give it to a kindly stranger, to spread the beauty of the world among its good people?  Yes, that should do quite nicely.”  Having decided upon his next course of action, Rufus found the road again and continued his journey.

After many miles of walking, Rufus came upon a pleasant brook in the woods, with a quaint wooden bridge passing over it.  Along the riverbank, Rufus saw two young boys throwing rocks at the trees, and he figured it was some sort of game they were playing.  Thinking that they would make fine recipients of his little gift, he approached the pair, but when he got closer, he realized that they were trying to hit the squirrels of the forest.  “What are you doing?!?” he cried.

“Playing a game I made up,” said the older of the two boys.  “We take turns throwing rocks at the squirrels, and whoever hits one in the head first wins.  It’s fun!  You wanna try it?”

“No, I most certainly do not!” said Rufus.  “Please, you really mustn't do that!”

“Why?” asked the younger boy, as he cast a stone.

“Because it’s cruel!” exclaimed Rufus.

“Why?” asked the younger boy, as the older one cast a stone.

“Because it hurts the poor little squirrels!”

“Why?” asked the younger boy, as he cast another stone.

“Because you’re hitting them in the heads with stones!” said Rufus, whose patience was running thin.

“Why?” asked the younger boy, as the older one cast another stone.

“Why?!?” Rufus finally snapped.  “I haven’t the foggiest idea why!  You tell me why you’re doing that!”

“I already told you,” said the older boy, as the younger one cast another stone, “it’s because it’s fun.  Why do you care so much about the squirrels anyway?”

“Because I love every living thing,” Rufus stated simply.

“Even the squirrels?” asked the younger boy.

“Yes,” answered Rufus.

“Even the foxes who eat the squirrels?” asked the older boy.

“Of course,” answered Rufus.

“Even the kids who throw rocks at the squirrels?” asked the older boy.

“Absolutely!” answered Rufus.

“Then stop telling us what to do!” snapped the older boy, taking a shiny stone from the riverbank.

“I’ll stop telling you what to do when you stop trying to harm innocent creatures!” retorted Rufus.

“I wish you’d just leave us alone already,” groaned the older boy, whipping his stone so quickly that even he seemed surprised by it.  It curved leftward and hit a squirrel directly in the head, and with a disquietingly loud thunk, both the squirrel and the stone fell from the branches above.

“Nooo!” shrieked Rufus, rushing over to the corpse.  “Oh no, oh no, oh no!  You really mustn’t do these sorts of things!”

“Well, I guess I win,” said the older boy to the younger.  “Come on, let’s get away from this creep.”

They passed Rufus as he knelt over the now indisputably dead squirrel.  “You know,” he said, finally looking up, “the universe really ought to teach you two a lesson.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” spat the younger boy.

“I was once told that the universe is the greatest of all teachers,” replied Rufus.  “I think maybe you could benefit from its lessons.”

“You’re weird!” sneered the younger boy, who hurled a dull rock at Rufus’ forehead as both children bounded into the thicket ahead, leaving nothing but Rufus and the echoes of their derisive snickering in their wake. 

 Rufus looked back down at the dead squirrel, then glanced at the rock beside it, only to be stunned by its beauty.  Even on the floor of the dimly-lit wood, it shone like a sparkling prism among the leaves.  Rufus recollected himself when he noticed the front half of a caterpillar struggling to get out from beneath the glistening stone.  “Oh, don’t worry little fellow,” he said, removing the stone, “I’ll help you out.  You know, one day you’re going to be as pretty as thi - oh, goodness!”  The caterpillar had not been pinned, but crushed; its front half had not been squirming to get free, but writhing in agony, as its back half had been ground into a viscous yellow paste that was splattered across the ground and smeared across the underside of the stone.  “Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear!” Rufus fretted, pacing back and forth beside the caterpillar with the stone in hand, “Oh how such beauty could extinguish such beauty!”  Rufus finally stood over the caterpillar and sighed, “I wish I could help you right now.  I really do.”

Just then, he heard a voice in the back of his head, neither male nor female, yet both gentle and terrible, and it whispered, “Kill, kill, kill….”  It would have shocked Rufus had his surprise not been drowned out by a far more potent feeling: a powerful, overwhelming urge to stomp on the caterpillar before him.  Rufus’ foot was already hovering over its half-decimated body when he realized what he was doing.  In that moment, he perceived the caterpillar not as it was, but as a wretched, feeble flame, trembling, and almost pathetically begging to be quelled forever.  And again, the voice persisted, but with less subtlety, “Kill, kill, kill!”

“B-but I can't snuff out the light,” Rufus’ voice trembled, barely above a whisper.  “I love it too much.  Oh, I love it so!”

Finally, the voice abandoned all pretensions of gentleness, and whispered with the ferocity of a roar, “KILL, KILL, KILL!”

“No!” Rufus cried, and with a noise somewhere between a grunt and a whimper, he used all of his will to wrench himself away from the scene and stagger back to the riverbank, feeling dizzy and nauseous the whole way.  “What was that?” he whispered breathlessly to himself.  “What's wrong with me?”

Once he arrived at the shore, Rufus knelt over the brook and washed the goo off of the stone.  In doing so, he saw his reflection in the water, and noticed a small dent in his forehead.  “You know,” he said, “if I could feel pain, that rock probably would have hurt quite a bit.”  Rufus set down his stone and molded the dented clay on his forehead back into shape, and when his work was finished, his spirits lifted slightly.  Rufus then proceeded to wash his newfound stone, and when he afterward held it aloft in the sunlight, it glistened with hues that he had never witnessed before, and Rufus was once again enraptured.  “Why, this is the prettiest stone I’ve ever seen,” he said.  “My creator absolutely must see this; it’s exactly the sort of thing he would love!  It’s just such a shame that it had to cause so much pain.”  He glanced back at the carcass of the squirrel.  “You know, I really wish those two delinquents could learn the error of their ways.  Maybe make the world a better place once in a while.  Well, who knows.  There’s nothing I can do about it.”  Then, he noticed that the sun was setting quickly, the sky was turning scarlet, and the stone in his hand was reflecting only a deep blood red.  “I suppose I should tuck in for the night soon,” Rufus mused.  “But if there were children out here, then there should probably be a town nearby.  I’ll try and stop there, if I can.”  So Rufus pocketed his stone and continued onward into the twilight.

It had barely been ten minutes when Rufus came across a village at a junction in the road.  Walking between the buildings through a silence punctuated only by the sounds of crickets and his own footsteps, he wondered why he saw no one, as it had only just become evening.  Eventually, he heard a voice hiss, “What are you doing out here so late?”  Rufus whirled around to find a woman peeking out from behind the door of an inn that was barely cracked open.  “Get inside!  Quick!”

Making sure there was no one else she could be talking to, Rufus strolled through the doorway, which the woman hastily shut, locked, and bolted after him.  “What were you thinking, just meandering around out there after sundown?” the woman snapped.

“I was thinking of finding a place I could spend the night,” Rufus answered pleasantly.

“Well…you’ve found one, at least,” the woman sighed.  “You should be safe as long as you stay inside.”

“Oh, splendid!” Rufus squeaked.  “How wonderfully kind of you, madam, to offer me your hospitality!  May I perhaps have the pleasure of knowing your name?”

“It’s…Matilda,” the woman replied.  “Look, you clearly have no idea what’s going on around here, so I should - ”

“My name is Rufus Finkelheimer!” Rufus announced.  “It is ever so wonderful to meet you!”

Matilda paused.  “Yes, it’s good to meet you too.  Just - ”

“You know, you’re the first stranger who’s ever been kind to me,” said Rufus.  “Here, have a pinecone.”  He then reached into his waistcoat pocket, produced his little pinecone, and handed it to Matilda.

“Uh…”  Matilda stared at the pinecone in her hand, then looked down at Rufus, who had his hands folded behind his back and was rocking on the balls of his feet in a self-satisfied sort of way, then looked back at her pinecone.  “Thanks?”

“You’re quite welcome, madam!” said Rufus.

There was a moment of silence.

“Who’s…ever…been kind to you?” asked Matilda.

“Yes, ma’am, in my entire life!”

Matilda didn’t know what to say.  Rufus leaned forward with a slight nod.  “You deserve the pinecone,” he said earnestly.

“Well, I’m about to do you one more kindness.”

“Oh, splendiferous!” Rufus cheered.

“Okay, listen carefully,” said Matilda.  “There’s this…well, I want to say ‘person,’ but it’s more monster than man, really.  We call it the Man with the Gaping Maw, although it has other names, too…the Accursed One, the Nightwalker…it arrives in our town at night, under the waning crescent moon, and it…”  Matilda seemed to be struggling to find her words.  “It…eats an infant.”

“Oh, how horrid!” Rufus cried.  “Isn’t there anything you can do?”

“We’ve tried everything,” Matilda said solemnly.  “We can’t stop it from breaking into our houses; it’s just too strong.  We can’t fight it; it’s completely invincible.  It targets our infants, but if you get in its way, it’ll eat you too.  But its hunger is never satisfied.  If you meet it face-to-face, you just…don’t come back the same.  If you look it in the eye, it’ll break your mind.  You’ll go insane.”

“Have you tried fleeing from this man?” Rufus asked.

“We’ve moved all across the countryside, trying to escape it,” said Matilda, “but it doesn’t matter.  It always finds us on the night of the waning crescent moon, as if we never left at all.  Tonight is the first waning crescent moon of the month, so it’ll be coming.  And it’ll come again tomorrow night…and the next night…and the next night…”

“Have you any idea where he comes from?” asked Rufus.

“It emerges from the woods,” Matilda answered.  “From where exactly, we don’t know.  But we can’t escape the woods, either.  If we walk through them long enough, we’ll just come back to the village.  The only way to move the woods is to move the village; it follows us.  You’ll be free to leave in the morning…but none of us can follow you.”

“Oh, what a terrible predicament!” Rufus said.  Rufus thought for a moment.  “How will I know him, if I see him?” he asked.

“Oh, that’ll be easy,” Matilda said.  “It’s tall, hunched, and pale.  But you’ll hear it before you see it.”

“Well, that settles it then,” Rufus decided.  “I’ll just have to meet this sordid fellow tonight, and see if I can’t talk some sense into him.”

“What?  Are you insane?” Matilda shrieked.  “It’ll devour you!”

“Well…I’ve never been eaten before, so statistically speaking, I have a zero percent chance of being eaten.  And even if I do get consumed, I think it will be a most informative experience.”  And with that, he set off into the night.

Rufus walked for a few minutes until he arrived at the crossroads in the center of the town, and beside a bubbling fountain he waited.  After about half an hour, the fountain suddenly went silent, as did the crickets and the breeze and every other sound.  Whipping around, Rufus saw that the fountain was still flowing, and the tree branches were still billowing, but the world was silent anyway.  Then, there came a distant, hoarse moaning, like wind traveling through the molted husk of a locust, that filled Rufus with dread.  It was definitely saying something, but he couldn’t discern what.  Looking for the source of the horrible noise, he turned in all directions, but it was no use; the voice seemed to be coming from everywhere and nowhere all at once, and it was getting louder.  Eventually, Rufus spotted a silhouette on the horizon, striding down the middle of the road, and he could finally decipher its speech: “I’m…so…hungry…”

Rufus approached the Man with the Gaping Maw, and saw that he lived up to his name.  Even though he was hunchbacked, he stood well over eleven feet tall; his skin was pale as moonlight and his head was bare; dressed all in tattered robes of ebony he walked slowly and evenly, but his gait betrayed hints of pain.  He was emaciated from heat to foot, and his long, slender fingers dangled from his hands, boneless, yet strong, like serpents.  His eyes were bloodshot, with no brows above them and bags beneath them as though he had not slept in decades; his nose and ears were eroded like ancient ruins, and his mouth hung more slack-jawed than one would think possible, exposing his yellow teeth and his blackened gums and tongue.  He was terrible to behold, but despite the fear he endured, Rufus had half a mind to pity him, as though he knew what kinds of things this man had done, he seemed more wretched than sinister.

Mustering up his courage, Rufus stood directly in the newcomer’s path.  “Greetings, my good fellow!” he said.  “How are you doing on this fine evening?”

The Man with the Gaping Maw stopped and seemed to consider Rufus for a moment.  Then he picked him up and put Rufus’ head inside his mouth.  “I’m terribly sorry to disappoint you, my good sir,” came Rufus’ muffled voice from within the Accursed One’s throat, “but I’m made of clay.  I’m just not edible!”

The Man with the Gaping Maw spat out Rufus and continued to shamble down the road.  “I’m…so…hungry…” he moaned.

“Yes, well, it was precisely about that sort of thing which I was hoping to speak with you,” Rufus stammered, wiping the saliva off of his face.  “You see, I’ve heard rumor - and please forgive me if I’m mistaken, but - word has it that you’ve been eating babies.  Are these allegations not unfounded?”  The Nightwalker ignored Rufus.  “Well…assuming these reports are indeed accurate reflections of your behavior, I must politely request that you cease such activities at once.”  Rufus once again went ignored.  “I must reiterate, my good sir: please stop eating babies.”  Much to Rufus’ dismay, the Man with the Gaping Maw did not, in fact, stop.  “Might I offer you something a bit tastier to eat?” Rufus suggested.  “There’s a very nice inn nearby, and the woman who runs it is most hospitable!  I’m sure she’ll be willing to give you some nice, warm delicacies if you’ll only give them a try!”  Rufus yet again went ignored.  “You don’t know where those babies have been!  They are often smelly, and dirty, and you could catch something!  In fact, if you don’t mind me saying, sir, your pallor and figure are not exactly indicative of a healthy diet.  I would strongly recommend at the very least diversifying your eating habits to include other food groups besides human children.  Perhaps some fruits and vegetables would do you good?”  Bizarrely enough, the Accursed One didn’t seem to care.  “Oh, please, sir, please!  Isn’t there anything that could alter your persuasions on the matter?”  The Man with the Gaping Maw kept walking in silence for many miles, and Rufus kept scrambling to keep up with him, desperately pleading and bargaining the whole way.  Eventually, the Accursed One led Rufus up a hill, and as Rufus looked around, he noticed that the town now seemed to stretch on eternally in all directions.  The Man with the Gaping Maw turned toward a particular house that was halfway up the hill.  “Please, sir, you mustn't go in there!” Rufus shrieked.  “I don’t want to impose on you, and ordinarily I wouldn’t, but I love all living things, and as such, I feel I have a duty to - sir?”  Rufus was caught off guard a bit by the fact that the Nightwalker had stopped in his tracks and was now looking down at him.  They were both silent for a moment.

“Will…you…love…me?” the Man with the Gaping Maw finally said.

“Of course!” said Rufus.  “I love everybody!”  The Man with the Gaping Maw got on his knees and bowed his head down to Rufus, who had no idea what he was expected to do.  “Uh…there, there,” he said, patting the Accursed One on his bald head.  When he didn’t respond, Rufus gave his head a quick kiss, then stood back uncomfortably for a moment.  The Nightwalker eventually rose, glaring at Rufus with an air of bitterness and disappointment, and opened the door of the house.  “Oh, no, oh no, oh no!” Rufus cried.  “Please, sir, you mustn’t continue your current course of action!”

“I’m…so…hungry…” moaned the Nightwalker as he strode down the hall, seemingly knowing exactly which room to enter.

“No, sir, you really mustn’t!” pleaded Rufus, as the Accursed One opened the nursery door.  Rufus panickedly scrambled around the Nightwalker and stood firmly in the doorway with his hands on his hips.  “I’m sorry to disrupt your plans, good sir, but you shall not enter this room in my presence!” Rufus declared.  The Man with the Gaping Maw picked up Rufus by the head with one hand and gently put him down in the hallway, then strode over to the cradle and picked up the baby.  “I’m sorry sir, but I absolutely cannot allow you to do that!” Rufus stated and tried to pull the baby out of the Nightwalker’s hands.  The baby woke up and looked into the Accursed One’s eyes, and then began to scream and cry and twitch uncontrollably, and its mouth frothed like that of a rabid animal.  “Please, sir, you must let go of the baby!” Rufus demanded, trying in vain to pull the infant out of the Nightwalker’s clutches.  The Accursed One simply glanced down at Rufus disinterestedly.  As the Man with the Gaping Maw lifted the screaming infant toward its mouth, Rufus gave one final, desperate yank, and with a horrible ripping noise and a spattering of blood, he toppled backward onto the floor.  Looking back up at the Nightwalker, Rufus saw only the majority of an infant in his hands, and he saw the severed head of one in his own.  As the baby’s exposed throat gushed and sprayed blood into Rufus’ face, he instinctually hurled the decapitated head onto the floor, screaming in horror, and the Man with the Gaping Maw swallowed the rest of its corpse whole.  In a dazed panic, Rufus scrambled back into a corner, whimpering and babbling incoherently while the Accursed One picked up the severed head and swallowed it just as easily.

Rufus sprang toward the door and sprinted down the road, reaching the fountain in a matter of seconds.  He looked at his reflection in the water and saw that he was covered in slowly dripping blood.  Panting and slowly regaining his sensibility, he noticed that there was blood on his face, and there was blood on his hands, and it was all so sticky, sticky, sticky!  And the blood was on his arms, and it was on his legs, and it was oh so sticky, sticky, sticky!  He hated it, he hated it, he hated it all.  And it dripped down his chin, and it dripped down his chest, and it oozed down his arms, and it oozed down his legs, so sticky, sticky, sticky!

Rufus washed his face in the fountain, and he washed his hands in the fountain, and he washed his whole body in the fountain until his clay began to get soft and mushy.  He clambered out and waited to dry off, then looked back at his reflection again.  His face was slightly distorted, and his hands were stained red - the blood had mixed with the clay; it was a part of him now, and Rufus wondered if he would ever be able to get it out.  At that point, all Rufus could think to do was to curl up on the ground beside the fountain and cry himself to sleep.

Part II

It was late in the afternoon when Rufus was awoken by the bustling sounds of a village operating as normal.  He witnessed the townspeople leading lives of simple bliss all about him and decided that he must have had a terrible nightmare; surely, this beautiful place couldn’t be the site of such recent tragedy.  Yet, just to be certain, Rufus looked at his reflection in the fountain and found that the blood was still ingrained in his clay, and his face was still lopsided.  Rufus tried to correct it, and succeeded to a degree, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t quite mold his face back to how it used to be.  His eyes looked smaller and darker, his face seemed less round and cheerful, his dimples were gone, and he couldn’t distinguish the former rosiness of his cheeks from the red tint of the dead infant’s blood.

So it was all real, then, Rufus thought, and he looked back up at the townsfolk.  Among the bustling crowd, he picked out a woman carrying baskets, humming something jovial to herself, a man carrying too many loaves of bread, stumbling around comically trying not to drop them, and some children playing a game that seemed to involve skipping.  Rufus didn’t understand.  How could they simply proceed with their lives after all that had happened?  Were these a broken people, so accustomed to death and fear that they had been rendered numb to grief and sorrow?  Or was Rufus the broken one, so bent on dwelling on the horrors of the past that he had stripped himself of the ability to enjoy the little pleasures that the majority of life had to offer?  He thought of his own little pleasures, of his creator and his home, but they were so far away.  He reached into his pocket, thinking of his pinecone, but pulled out the stone instead.  It still glistened blood red - only blood red.  He thought it still looked pretty, but he quickly recalled the blood of the caterpillar, and then he remembered the blood of the infant.  Feeling nauseous again, Rufus put the stone back in his pocket and gazed into the beautiful woods where he had first found it, but he could only think of the Man with the Gaping Maw, lurking deep within them.  He looked at the quaint little houses, and wondered which one would be broken into next.  Rufus glanced back at the elegant fountain, but only remembered the wretched form of his own disfigured face, slathered in the blood of another.  Finally, he turned his attention back to the people, and he wondered if any one of them would mourn for the baby.  

The more Rufus thought, the more he realized that the whole affair was very strange.  The door didn’t even seem to have been locked, and no one but himself even tried to stop the Nightwalker.  In fact, it seemed like the only people who cared about what had transpired were the infant and himself, both of whom had been helpless to prevent it.

These people are beyond saving, Rufus thought.  They won’t defend themselves.  The Man with the Gaping Maw is beyond reason; he’ll kill them all until there’s no one left to kill.  I am beyond hope.  I am powerless.  And in that moment, Rufus felt an emotion that he could not name, for he had never felt it before; it was bitterness.  He had felt similar things, like anger and disappointment, but those were sharp, yet fleeting; this new sensation was dull, yet deep, and Rufus’ thoughts weighed on him like a hot, heavy pit of tar.

Intending to leave the way he came, Rufus turned his back on the townspeople, but he faltered upon encountering an unbelievable sight: the two boys he had seen assaulting squirrels the previous day were now feeding them.  Rufus stared for a while to make sure he was seeing properly, then approached the pair.

“Look!” said the younger boy to the elder.  “It’s…it’s…that guy again!”  The older boy turned his head toward Rufus and the former’s eyes lit up.

“Hey…uh…you,” the older boy said.  “I’m sorry, I never got your name.”

“Rufus Finkelheimer.”

“Well, Rufus, I, uh…I’m sorry about how we treated you when we first met.”

“Me, too,” the younger boy chimed in.  “Is your head ok?  I hope the rock didn’t hurt too much.”

“No, it was fine, I was more concerned about.…”  Rufus’ voice trailed off as he stared at the squirrels chittering and feasting on nuts about their feet.

“The squirrels?” the elder boy finished.  “Yeah…pretty much as soon as we ran away, we both felt terrible about the whole thing.  It was weird, though…we’d played that game tons of times before, but never felt like anything was wrong with it.  Until we met you.  I think it was you that changed the way we saw things…now we want to make the world a better place.  So…thank you, Rufus.  Thank you for changing our lives.”

“I…you’re welcome.”  Rufus was dumbfounded.

“Thank you, Mr.…Fingerfinder,” said the younger boy.

“Finkelheimer,” Rufus chuckled.

“Oh, sorry.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it at all!” laughed Rufus as he surveyed the entirety of the scene once more.  It all felt so surreal, so uplifting, so…inspirational.  And he was inspired.  “And now, I must thank you, for I believe you have helped me with a problem of my own.  You see, I now have an idea on how to stop the Man with the Gaping Maw.”  The two boys became as slack-jawed as the Nightwalker.  “But first…does your village have a town hall, or some equivalent?”

“Uh…yeah,” said the older boy.  “It’s at the top of the hill.  You can’t miss it, even if you try.  You really can’t.”

“Well, it’s settled then,” Rufus declared with renewed confidence.  “I should thank you both once more, and now, I must take my leave.”  With these parting words, Rufus bounded away to the town hall.

Upon reaching the foot of the hill he had ascended last night, Rufus looked up at its peak to find a rather large white building towering over the small wooden structures that populated the rest of the town, and he wondered how he had failed to notice it until now.  Losing no time, Rufus retraced his steps to the summit, and he soon passed the frolicking children he had seen earlier.  They were still enjoying their game, skipping and clapping to the beat of a rhyme they were chanting.  As he approached them, he could finally make out the words:

The sheriff ran into the Man with the Gaping Maw

He said it was his duty to enforce the local law

He pulled out his billy club and socked it in the jaw

And the Nightwalker’s throat was the last thing that he saw

Mommy saw the Nightwalker walkin’ down the lane

She looked it in the eye, and it made her go insane

The doctor tried to fix her, but his efforts were in vain

‘Cause the Nightwalker’s eyes got her rotting in the brain

Daddy saw the Nightwalker walk in through the door

He tried to fight it off, now he ain’t here any more

Grandma came to visit, didn’t know what was in store

Now she’s crying on her knees, cleaning blood up off the floor

Baby saw the Nightwalker walk into the room

He caught a pair of sunken eyes peering through the gloom

And itty bitty baby would never ever bloom

‘Cause the Man with the Gaping Maw would spell the baby’s doom

Rufus quickened his pace.

Once he was out of earshot, Rufus looked back up at the top of the hill, only to find that the town hall now looked further away than it had been when he started.  Not only that, but the further away he was from the town hall, the bigger and more magnificent it appeared to be.  Rufus continued with increasing haste, eventually breaking into a sprint, but the more he struggled, the further away the building became, all the while growing ever more marvelous to behold.  At last, after Rufus had collapsed on the ground from exhaustion, he asked a passerby how to get to the town hall.

“Oh, it’s a very curious place,” she said.  “Anyone can get there, but only if they’ve already reached the top of the hill.  The lower you are on the hill, the harder the hill is to climb…but the town hall can reach you, wherever you are.  You can’t catch it, but you can’t escape it either.”  Thanking the woman for her assistance, he pulled himself up off of the ground.  

That has to be the most asinine design for an office of government I’ve ever heard of, he thought, and deciding that he didn’t really need the mayor’s help to enact his plan, he turned around, only to find himself standing before a set of great golden doors, which were built into a sprawling wall of crumbling ebony bricks.  The doors slowly swung open before him, revealing the town hall within, which had transformed into an eleven-story palace of marble.  Upon its steps were ten white pillars, slender, yet strong, standing in stark contrast to the eroding, ruined wall behind him.  

Rufus ascended the stairs and entered through another pair of doors, only to find himself alone in a lobby with a secretary.  Her back was hunched, and she had heavy bags under her bloodshot eyes as though she had been working ceaselessly for months.  “I would like to speak with the mayor, please,” Rufus said.

“One moment, please, the mayor will be with you shortly,” the secretary droned, and she exited through a different pair of doors.  After a brief wait, the doors opened, revealing both the secretary and the mayor, the latter of which was seated upon a chair with wheels.  With a great heave, the secretary rolled the mayor across the room, and Rufus pitied her, for the man was so morbidly obese that he wondered whether the mayor could even stand on his own two feet without her help.

At last, the pair found themselves before Rufus.  “Mayor Fizzlewitz, at your service!” he announced with a pompous sort of jollity, in a voice that sounded almost like a bulldog choking on its own vomit.  Fizzlewitz offered Rufus a handshake, and Rufus obliged him, then introduced himself.  “So, what can I do for you?” asked the mayor.

“Oh, I came not to ask what you can do for me, but rather to inform you of what I can do for you,” said Rufus, “although it would be ideal if I could acquire your assistance in the matter.”

“I’m listening,” said Mayor Fizzlewitz with a creeping grin.

“You see, I come on business regarding the Man with the Gaping Maw.  I had a run-in with him last night, and I believe I have devised a way to prevent him from killing anyone else.”

Both the mayor and his secretary were aghast.  “You…met the Accursed One?” stammered Fizzlewitz.  “And you…survived?”

“Yes, although our encounter was not exactly all ponies and pinecones, I can assure you of that,” Rufus continued.  “In any case, the man is clearly in great pain.  He wouldn’t stop bemoaning his hunger, and when I looked into his eyes, I saw nothing but suffering and desperation.  Because of this, I - ”

“You looked into his eyes?!?” Mayor Fizzlewitz gasped.  “And you’re just…perfectly fine?”

“I wouldn’t exactly say that I’m perfectly fine, but all this talk of insanity I’ve been hearing seems to be a bit overblown.”  Rufus thought for a moment.  “Although…” he continued, “I did see a baby get exposed to him and immediately start screaming and twitching and frothing at the mouth.  Is that what all of this talk is about?”

“Yes!” said Fizzlewitz.  “It’s the brain rot!  Looking into the Nightwalker’s eyes will warp and deteriorate your brain!  How did you make it out unscathed?!?”

“Again, I would not say that I made it out unscathed,” said Rufus, “but if it’s my brain you’re worried about, then fear no more!  You see, I’m made of clay, so I don’t have a brain.”  The pair simply stared back at him.  “That also means I’m inedible, so I can’t exactly become the Nightwalker’s dinner.”

“The brain rot really has gotten to him,” the mayor murmured to his secretary, who nodded.

“What was that?” Rufus asked.

“Oh, nothing,” Fizzlewitz replied pleasantly.  “Please, continue.”

“Very well,” said Rufus.  “As I was saying previously, the Man with the Gaping Maw seems to be constantly enduring a great deal of hunger, and a great deal of pain.  Therefore, I can only surmise that he turns to infanticide out of abject desperation.”

“Are you serious?!?” asked Fizzlewitz, his face flushing red with blood.  “The Accursed One doesn’t feel!  It only kills and consumes and destroys!  That’s all it really is: it’s destruction and famine and death, incarnate in a hideous mockery of the human form!  How can you even think about empathizing with it?  And how will any of this talk of sympathy help me as you said it would?”

“That’s exactly where I’m going with this,” said Rufus.  “If the Man with the Gaping Maw is so hungry, then let us give him something to eat!”

“Yes…yes…that could work.…” the mayor said pensively.  “We could save lives by offering up less valuable ones!  Are you thinking we sacrifice our elderly?  Our criminals?  Or perhaps our sick and dying?”

Rufus stared back at Fizzlewitz.  “WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?!?” he screamed.  Rufus took a deep breath.  “Perhaps we would be better off sacrificing our politicians,” he said with a glare.  The secretary looked shocked, but also seemed to be stifling a laugh.  Fizzlewitz started turning red again, and was looking for a proper retort when Rufus recomposed himself and continued.  “I meant that we should throw the Nightwalker a feast.  Provide one item of everything we can, and let the Man with the Gaping Maw try them each.  If he likes at least one piece of food, then we’ll never lose a baby to him again!”

“And…if not?” asked Fizzlewitz, as he swallowed his indignation.

“Everyone likes something!” said Rufus.  “He can’t hate all of the food we give him.”

Mayor Fizzlewitz sighed.  “I know what you’re trying to do.  You think that you can change the Accursed One, you want to save him as well as us, and make everyone happy.  Well…you can’t.  As mayor, I know a thing or two about conflict resolution, and let me tell you, someone is always going to come out unhappy.  The Man with the Gaping Maw wants to eat our children, and we don’t want our children to be eaten.  There’s no getting around that, no room for compromise; it’s either him or us, and as the mayor of this town, I have chosen, and will always choose, to protect us.”

“To protect everyone except for the sick, the elderly, and the criminals, you mean,” said Rufus.

“You can’t save everyone,” said Fizzlewitz.  “And you can’t change anyone.  Even if you did find a food that the Nightwalker could enjoy, it would still eat babies anyway.  You know why?  Because that’s what it’s used to, and because that’s what it would feel like doing.  People are stubborn and selfish and cruel, and no amount of hope, or faith, or optimism, or universal love on your part will ever change that.  No matter how grand a banquet we prepare, no matter how broad an assortment of the most exquisite…most delectable.…”  The mayor’s voice trailed off as he seemed to come to a realization.

“You’d be surprised,” said Rufus.  “I’ve seen incredible things happen, and I can personally attest to the fact that even just a few words of wisdom can permanently alter one’s life for the better.  Why, just earlier today, I - ”

“You know what?” said the mayor.  “You’re right.  I believe you really may be onto something!”  Rufus’ face lit up, while the secretary gave Fizzlewitz an odd look.  “But your plan will only work if we provide the most exquisite assortment of foods for our banquet.  We shall require roast beef, and tenderloin, and mutton, all medium rare, of course, and strawberries dipped in chocolate, and broccoli lathered in cheese, and mashed potatoes, and of course a wide assortment of cakes and pastries.…”  Mayor Fizzlewitz salivated more and more with each kind of food he named.  “All accompanied by the finest bourbon from the wine cellar of Matilda’s inn.  Have you ever been there?  It’s quite a fine place, if a bit on the small and dingy side.  My only real complaint, though, is that they never seem to have enough food down there; they run out every time I visit!  Yes, a bottomless pit, I am; no matter how much I eat, I never stop being hungry!”  The mayor gave a hearty chuckle, then laid a hand on his secretary’s shoulder.  “Do you have any requests, my dear?” he asked.  

She seemed to recoil a bit, but then she sheepishly replied, “I like carrots.…”

“Carrots it is, then!” Fizzlewitz declared.  “We shall provide the Man with the Gaping Maw with every kind of food that he could possibly desire, and if anything is left over after he feasts, it shall be brought to the town hall to be redistributed as I see fit.  Oh, Rufus, how agreeable your plan is!”

“I’m so very glad you find it that way!” said Rufus, with a memory of a distant gleaming returning to his eyes.  “Of course, we should make sure that every house containing a baby is properly secured, with locked doors, barricaded windows, and every passage to the child blockaded, just as a precaution.”

“Consider it decreed!” said the mayor.

“And, if by chance this plan doesn’t work, I would highly recommend that you have a great wall built around your village.”

“What?” said Fizzlewitz.  “No, we have neither the funds nor the materials to build a wall of that scale.  But it shouldn’t be necessary, given your ingenious little scheme, now should it?  Well, in any case, there is much work to be done!  Let us away!”

“Yes, sir,” sighed the secretary, who, with a hefty groan, rolled Fizzlewitz back through the doorway from which he came.

Feeling fairly satisfied, Rufus left the town hall, and proceeded down the hill to the fountain, where a great table was already being set.  He watched with delight as a host of townspeople came and went, bringing plates, silverware, and every kind of food imaginable.  The more Rufus watched, the more assured he became of success.

“Well, there goes my best bourbon,” said a familiar voice from behind him.  Turning around, Rufus found that the voice belonged to Matilda.  “This had better be worth it.”

“Of course it will be worth it!” Rufus squeaked excitedly.  “Just imagine a life in which your and your neighbors are no longer plagued by the Nightwalker’s hunger!”

“Mayor Fizzlewitz raised our taxes by ten percent to pay for this whole feast,” Matilda said.  “But I guess I’m glad it was only ten percent this time.”

“But it’ll still surely be worth it!” said Rufus.

Matilda was silent for a moment.  “ I don’t know what Fizzlewitz told you in there,” she said, “but this isn’t going to work.”

“Why ever not?” Rufus asked.

“You just…” her voice trailed off as she gazed at the table being set.  “You just don’t understand.”  After a moment of silence, she continued, “It comes, it takes, it kills, it goes, and that’s the end of it.  That’s just how it's been, for as long as I can remember.  You can’t fight it, or escape it, or reason with it, or bribe it.  Others have tried before us…it’s no use.  Locking our doors only leads to property damage when it breaks the door down.  All there really is to do is to accept that we’re completely at its mercy.  If anything, we’re lucky it only kills one baby each night.”

Rufus considered Matilda for a moment, and remembered that she had locked the door of her inn the previous night.  “Do you really believe that it’s hopeless?” he asked.  “Or can you simply not imagine a world without the Man with the Gaping Maw in it?”

Matilda paused.  “I don’t know,” she said.  “Both, I think.”

“If the Nightwalker came for your child, would you fight back?”

“I don’t have one,” she said.

“But if you did?”

“I don’t see what good it would do.”

“But would you fight back anyway?”  Matilda didn’t answer.  Rufus thought for a bit before continuing, “Have you ever heard the saying, ‘Hope is like the wings of a caterpillar?’”

“No, I haven’t,” said Matilda.

“Well that’s because I made it up just now.”

Matilda chuckled.  “Caterpillars don’t have wings,” she retorted.

“Not yet,” said Rufus with a grin.

“Not all caterpillars get wings,” said Matilda.

Rufus felt his stone in his pocket, and a shadow crossed his face.  “I know,” he said.

There was another moment of silence.  “You know, Rufus,” Matilda said, “you seem…different, somehow, from when we last spoke.  Your jawline is different.  You look older, somehow…and sunburnt.  What happened?”

“I’m made of clay,” said Rufus, “so I can’t age.  Or get sunburnt, for that matter.”

“But clay can change,” said Matilda, “and you’ve definitely changed.  You seem a bit wiser…and more soft-spoken, too.”

Rufus was silent.  “You don’t come back the same,” he said.  

After another pause, Matilda reached into her pocket and pulled out the pinecone Rufus had given her.  “For good luck tonight,” she said.  “You’ll need it.”

Rufus stared back at her.  “You deserve the pinecone,” he said.

Matilda smiled.  “You deserve it more,” she said. 

Rufus accepted the gift, then looked behind him.  The table was set, and dusk was approaching.  Rufus was as ready as he would ever be.

Walking past the fountain, Rufus sat down on the ground beside the table.  He noticed that the people who set it had neglected to provide any chairs, but they were already gone.  As the crescent moon rose, Rufus’ confidence began to sink.  The food was getting cold, and the townspeople’s hopelessness was beginning to infect him.  Through his queasiness, he reached into his pocket and held onto his pinecone so hard that it began to crack.  And he waited.

After a grueling hour that reeked with the essence of eternity, all went deafeningly silent once more.  The horrible moaning returned, and it was worse than before, for this time it brought terrible memories alongside it.  Hyperventilating and closing his eyes, Rufus was bombarded with images of dead babies, of his own irreparably disfigured face, and of the inside of a throat.  And he was haunted by the visage of the Man with the Gaping Maw.  Hoping to dispel his waking nightmare, he opened his eyes, only to be confronted by the same vision, so far away, yet all too close.  And with it came those awful, awful words: “I’m…so…hungry…”

Traveling along his ordinary course, the Man with the Gaping Maw approached Rufus at the table.  As the Accursed One shambled closer, Rufus looked at him, and couldn’t help to pity him once again.  No matter how much I hate you, he thought to himself, I will always love you more.

Rufus took a deep breath as the Nightwalker arrived.  “Hello again, sir,” he said.  “As you can plainly see, I and the good people of this town have prepared for you a bounteous feast, upon which you may glut yourself until you are fully sated.  I understand that you are a man of quite…unique taste, but I’m sure that at least something here can satisfy you.  Consider it a token of goodwill from us to you.”

The Man with the Gaping Maw looked at Rufus, then glanced down at the food, then looked back at Rufus again.  “Why…do…you…mock…me…?” he asked.

“Oh no, I’m quite serious,” Rufus said.  “Here, have some roast beef.  The mayor seems to think quite highly of it.”  Rufus took a slice of meat and handed it to the Man with the Gaping Maw, who swallowed it, then immediately regurgitated it and looked down at the meat despairingly.

The Nightwalker clambered over the table, and wheezing between every sentence, moaned, “I…can’t…eat…I…can’t…sleep…I…can’t…live…I…can’t…die…”

“Oh no, oh no, oh no!” Rufus cried as the Accursed One strode away from him.  Panickedly grabbing a handful of food, he ran up to the Nightwalker.  “You are fond of eating babies, are you not?” he said.  “Then perhaps some baby carrots will appeal to your tastes!”  The Man with the Gaping Maw ignored him.  Realizing that history was repeating itself, Rufus rapidly grew desperate and tried to force-feed the Nightwalker, but despite how low his jaw hung, Rufus couldn’t reach it.  He then resorted to flinging the baby carrots into the Accursed One’s mouth, but had little success.  Most of the carrots simply bounced off of his face, and the two that did go in were immediately regurgitated.  The Man with the Gaping Maw continued on his way as though nothing had occured.

Rufus pulled out his pinecone.  “I can give you this in exchange for sparing your next victim’s life!  In fact, if you like, I can give you a new pinecone every night whenever you visit!  How does that sound?”  The Nightwalker heedlessly proceeded.

Rufus had now grown desperate.  “Stop!” he cried.  “If you don’t stop right now, I’ll…I’ll.…”  Rufus raised his pinecone.  “I’ll throw this at you!  And it just might wound you!  Oh, so help me, it might!”  The Accursed One ignored him.  “I’m giving you to the count of ten, and if you don’t turn back, you will be dealt with!  One!  Two!  Three!  Four!  Five!”  The Nightwalker continued on his course.  “I’m warning you!  Six!  Seven!  Eight!  Nine!  Ohhh, you had better not!”  Nothing changed.  “Fine, be that way.  Ten!”  Rufus hurled his little pinecone through the air and it smote the Man with the Gaping Maw with such a force as to do absolutely nothing.  It bounced off of his face as uselessly as the baby carrots that had preceded it, and the Accursed One crushed it into splinters underfoot without diverting from his course.

“I’m…so…hungry…” moaned the Man with the Gaping Maw as he stopped before a two-story house.  He twisted the doorknob but found the entrance to be locked.  The Accursed One stared at the door for a bit, with an impenetrable expression that Rufus wagered might signify confusion.  Hoping against hope that this would finally be the thing to deter him, Rufus was horrified to see the Nightwalker gently tap on the door, causing it to fly off its hinges and shatter upon the ground like the pinecone before it.  Stepping inside the house, the Man with the Gaping Maw looked at the blockaded stairway, then fixed his gaze intently upon a particular spot on the ceiling near a wall.  Without breaking his line of sight, he approached the wall, holding his head at an unnatural angle atop his still-hunched back.  Then, splaying his limbs and coiling his serpentine fingers into spirals, he slowly climbed the wall like a spider.

At this, Rufus grabbed onto the Nightwalker’s ankles and continued to plead with him, but to no avail.  The Accursed One quickly reached the ceiling, then stretched his mouth even wider than it already was, and gnawed his way through the wood.  Then, he crawled into the nursery above, hoisting Rufus up with him.

The Man with the Gaping Maw shambled toward the crib, and Rufus climbed up his back and seated himself upon the Accursed One’s hunch, then attempted to restrain his arms, but to no avail; the Nightwalker was just too strong.  Rufus frantically searched his pockets for anything, anything at all, that could save the baby’s life, and he produced his stone.  Looking at the stone once more, Rufus saw that it glistened black as night, and he knew what he had to do.

With all his will, Rufus brought down the stone upon the Accursed One’s head.  And with a terrible crack, crack, crack! he did it again, and again, and again.  Blood bubbled and sprayed from beneath the Nightwalker’s scalp like a fountain, and it spurted into Rufus’ face and onto his chest and into his eyes.  They both collapsed onto the floor beside the crib, and wiping the blood out of his eyes, Rufus saw that the Man with the Gaping Maw was still twitching.  Kneeling down beside the bald head, he continued his gruesome work, with another crack, crack, crack!  Rufus remembered the Nightwalker’s words: “Will you love me?”  Crack, crack, crack!  He remembered the sorrow in the Accursed One’s eyes, and the pain with which he hobbled down the road.  Crack, crack, crack!  Harder and harder Rufus struck him, but he kept on twitching.  Why wouldn’t he die, why couldn’t he just die?  Crack, crack, crack!  Looking at his bloody stone, Rufus thought of the caterpillar in the woods. With one final, horrible crack! the Man with the Gaping Maw twitched no more.

So perished a man who would have otherwise existed forever, yet never truly lived, for he was cursed to always consume but never be sated, cursed to always wander and never rest, cursed to always desire release yet never be able to beg for it, cursed to be unkillable by all save one who loved him, and yet cursed to be utterly unlovable.  No one would ever know how he came to be this way, or how he came to be at all, and only Rufus would know how he came to pass.

When Rufus saw that the Man with the Gaping Maw was dead, he recoiled at the sight of his own bloody hands, and then he shriveled at the thought of himself.  He reckoned that if he were to look upon his own reflection again, that it should be utterly unrecognizable, and he had the sudden impulse to tear off his own bloodsoaked face and start anew.  But then, the baby in the crib beside him awoke and began to wail, and Rufus wept alongside it.  He wept until he was enveloped in silence, and he looked up to find that he was kneeling at a junction in a quiet country road, in the middle of a tranquil meadow, utterly alone, save for the gentle evening breeze and the bloody rainbow-colored stone in his hand.

THE END