8 The Precious Vomit

The Precious Vomit That night, Ebenezer's dreams were haunted by memories. In the last of these memories, he was sitting in the beast's attic, dabbing his dry eyes with an exquisitely embroidered handkerchief. "I still don't understand why you asked me to vomit out that ridiculous thing," said the beast. "It was for the funeral," said Ebenezer woundedly. "And it was a jolly good funeral too. Well, not good… and certainly not jolly.

But, you know, there was a lot of dashed respectful crying going on. I think Nicholas would have been very pleased." "My dear boy, I think he would have been a lot more pleased if he hadn't accidentally impaled himself on his own pointy stick," said the beast. "He was a moron, unworthy of mourning. You should have let me puddle him all those years ago." "He always loved making those pointy sticks…," said Ebenezer. Even though their relationship had gotten off to a rocky (and pointed-sticky) start, Ebenezer had spent more time chatting with Nicholas than any other human. This was because he had made Nicholas spend every Saturday afternoon with him, using the threat of the beast as a motivating influence.

Under the circumstances, it was hardly surprising that the conversation had been somewhat stilted. In spite of this, Ebenezer was still determined to feel poopy when he died. "Come now, Ebenezer. Your attempts at misery are bringing down my mood. Would you like me to vomit out some jazzy trousers or something?" asked the beast. "I don't think that's going to help," Ebenezer said. It was the first time he'd ever had a problem that couldn't be at least partially solved by jazzy trousers. "The thing that upsets me most is the fact that I'll never spend another awkward afternoon with Nicholas again. They were the highlights of my week, even though I'm pretty sure they were the lowlights of his. I just can't get my

head around how someone can be here one day and then gone the next." "It's called death, Ebenezer. It happens to all stupid people." Ebenezer dabbed again. This time, mainly in an attempt to show the beast that its comments were most unhelpful. "Oh fine, then," said the beast with a stinky sigh. "If I vomit out a way for you to see him one more time, will you perk up?" Ebenezer nodded eagerly. The beast closed its eyes and shut its mouth. It wiggled its blob of a body and made a low humming noise as it moved from side to side. Then, all of a sudden—Ebenezer woke up. It had been centuries since he'd thought about Nicholas, and the generous gift that the beast had vomited out. As he got dressed and

went downstairs, he tried to figure out why the memory was revisiting him. The radio was on in the kitchen, and the neighborhood radio station was playing "Hurricane Picnic" on repeat because everyone who had been at the rehearsal was calling in to request it. Claudette was dancing and singing along—her face beaming with pleasure—but Bethany was just dancing, because she refused to sing in front of Claudette. Ebenezer joined them. His singing was adequate, but his dancing was absolutely terrible—all arms and legs, with no sense of rhythm. He crashed into the saucepans during one particularly ambitious move. "What are you doing, you stupid gitface?" said Bethany. She was laughing at him whilst

the politer Claudette attempted to keep a straight face. "Letting loose like it's 1899. And I must say, it's far more invigorating than the usual morning bath," said Ebenezer. "You should give it a go. Sing along with us!" "No way. I am not a singer," said Bethany. But she was drowned out by the sound of