Thomas Worm Baby

I've always wanted to be a father. There's not a single day that's gone by without me thinking about what it would be like to raise children of my own. I see parents walking by with their four or five-year-olds and I imagine all the good times I could have. All the rules I could enforce. All the movies I could show them. My Neighbor Totoro, all the way to Schindler's List.

There's so much I could do as a father, and so much I want to do. But for the duration of my life, there was one huge problem with that. I was broke as hell. For the first year of my adult life, I worked in and out of jobs. I started reading a lot after getting a library card so I first tried my hand at writing novels, but after my first book, "The Confessions of Dracula's Attorney", received only two reviews, one of which a full-length one that was only two stars and the other that was a series of random letters and five stars, which I can presume was written on accident by an illiterate toddler, I gave up on that very soon.

I moved on to working at McDonald's, which was fine until the same forty-year-old woman came into the store four days in a row to complain about me not giving her a ketchup packet in her initial box and forcing her to walk a tremendous fifteen steps forward and backward to get one herself.

I really just did random chores for random people after that, which was enough to afford me Chinese takeout at a small, independent store about five blocks from my apartment. Thank God for buffet. And it was also enough to afford me the occasional Blu-Ray, and a hearty supply of Dove bars, but besides those luxuries, my life was stripped down to the bare essentials.

I couldn't even get involved in a relationship because despite being skinny and having a somewhat desirable appearance, my money troubles got in the way. My not saving up anything for a promising career made my life an uneventful purgatory with little excitement or fun.

These sorts of thoughts were going through my head when I went to bed about two months ago. I had drank a ton of caffeine about two hours before so I was in the middle of a pretty heavy caffeine crash, so there was no way I could have stayed up much longer. My hard and usually cold bed actually felt like a nice place to lay in for once. My head sunk into the pillow and I had pleasant thoughts. Thoughts about resting my head into girls' laps mostly.

It took me only a few minutes to fall into a deep sleep. While in this sleep, the pleasantness continued, as I dreamt about dating a girl I know from a couple of rooms away. She's about 5' 7", skinny, ginger, and also super energetic. She has a positive energy about everything, and she's always caring and compassionate, even to me. One would say she's the opposite of me, but opposites do attract, as they say. Obviously this was a good dream to have, but what was better was the fact that I let her into my room and we ate dinner together. I cooked spaghetti and meatballs and absolutely hated them since I'm a horrible cook, but her positive attitude stopped her from having negative thoughts towards them. We then watched a movie, Kiki's Delivery Service, if I recall, and then we headed to my room where, as one would expect after all this, we undressed.

I was too shy to be the first person to undress, so she kindly offered to undress first. She slowly took off her shirt, then her bra, then later her jean-shorts, and her panties. Her body was absolutely stunning, but of course my brain would picture her as stunning. You can't expect me to be realistic. I was about ready to take my shirt off, when I was stopped by her saying something.

"I make shitties," she said suddenly.

I was taken aback by this.

"What?" I said.

"I make shitties, Daddy!" she said again.

Now I was incredibly confused. "I make shitties"? What the hell kind of a thing to say is that? Why would anyone say that ever, let alone when about to have sex with a guy?

"Umm.... I don't think I follow," I said back.

"I MAKE SHITTIES!" she said once more.

Now I began to get scared. I didn't move from my bed, however. I sat there, tensed, unmoving, shaking like crazy, however.

"WATCH ME AS I SHIT!"

After saying that, loud, noisy farts escaped from her asshole, and she shat out a huge turd onto my bed. While doing this, she made a horrible, cartoonish face that showed that she was experiencing pleasure from not only the act of shitting, but also the idea of the torment that she was causing me and how disgusting of an act she was committing.

That was enough for me. I screamed incredibly loudly as she continued to shit onto my bed, and then, I woke up.

I was in a cold sweat. Nothing about the end of that dream made any sense at all, firstly, and secondly, nothing about the end of that dream was good. I hated every minute of it. It was incomprehensible how my own mind was able to come up with something so atrociously vile. It was a form of torture, and all conjured up by my subconcious. Why did that happen to me? What had I done to deserve that?

Nothing was the right answer, but I had to have done something wrong for that to happen. Whatever the case, all that thinking didn't prepare me for what was about to happen next.

Suddenly, I got a huge pain in my stomach. It rumbled and thrashed as I lay on the bed in agonizing pain. I felt like screaming, but I knew it was no use, so I didn't. All I could do was lie there and think about just how painful it was. Then, the pain moved to my asshole. My ass convulsed and contracted and burned like fire.

Now I had to scream, so I did. My ass was metaphorically aflame, and I didn't know why. I concluded, with all the brain power I had left, that my pants and underwear pressing on my asshole probably weren't helping, so I ripped them off immediately and threw them at the wall. It was then, I began to shit. Feces flew out from my ass all over my bed and my walls, and my face even. I didn't even know how that was possible, but apparently it was.

Now, a huge turd was escaping from my ass. Not a huge one like you're thinking. A huge, huge turd. Big enough to increase the diameter of my asshole to at least eight inches. It was an impossibly-sized turd, and during the whole experience, I felt as if my asshole was going to rip. I was in the most extreme pain known to mankind, and I had no idea why.

I had no choice but to keep pushing, until a large amount of it was out. After pushing even more, for some reason, I heard a voice. It was a high-pitched, baby-like voice, and it was giggling. I attributed this to me hallucinating or half-dreaming, so I didn't think much of it. The giggling continued as I continued to squeeze the giant, slimy turd out of my asshole. After minutes and minutes, it was finally out, and the extreme pain was finally gone.

I then sat up and looked at the end of my bed, and what I saw, I will never forget. It was a huge, grey worm. A grey, slimy worm the size of a toddler, covered in shit, and strangest of all, it had a face. A face that resembled a human. It wasn't a bug's face, or a pig's face. It was a cartoony, yet human face on this giant, grey worm. After taking time to process it, the worm finally spoke.

"Da-da," it said in a strained voice.

I passed out.

I woke up the next morning, and that same morning, I felt rejuvenated. I didn't feel bad at all. Like everything that happened last night was simply a dream. I just woke up, so as far as I knew, it must have been a dream. I sat up and looked at my floor. No shit. None whatsoever. It was a dream. Thank God.

I breathed a sigh of relief knowing that that horrifying creature did not exist in real life and my first child would not be a huge grey worm, I laid on my side and there it was. There it fucking was. The same grey worm from last night. It was snoozing on my bed.

How? How the hell was that possible? After all of that suffering, there had to be some calm. There had to be some rest for me. But no. There was none.

There it layed. Sleeping. Its eyes were closed, its mouth was part way open, its slimy head rested on my pillow. I wanted to grab a kitchen knife and stab it right there, but to be frank, I didn't even know where to stab the thing, and I also didn't want to endure the probable screams that would arise from this infantile creature, so I let it sleep.

I let it sleep because I wanted to ignore it. I let it sleep because it didn't deserve my attention, whatever the hell it was. I didn't care if it didn't know that it was a burden on my very soul. It was pure evil, even if by accident. Without having to know it, I hated it.

After all those thoughts went through my mind, to be frank, I didn't know what to do. What could I do? I didn't have a job anymore, so I couldn't eat breakfast, get dressed, and go to work to avoid the fucking thing, but at the same time, I didn't wanna stay home and be in the same house as this disgusting monster of all humanity, so what was there to do? Nothing? There had to be something. There was always something. This was my life. I had bullshitted my way through so much. There had to be some way to deal with this accursed thing, but there wasn't.

After sitting there and staring at it for a while, I decided I might as well carry on with my day and just pray and hope that it didn't wake up. It couldn't bother me if it was asleep. I started brewing my coffee and I put toast in my toaster, which I would later cover in almond butter. Of course, almond butter does have similar properties to the shit that covered my bedroom last night, but I didn't have anything else to spread over my toast.

Speaking of the shit that was everywhere last night, where was it now? The biggest concern on my mind at that moment was how to get rid of that stupid worm, but the second biggest was just as concerning. How can I go from spraying shit all over my bedroom to my bedroom being perfectly clean? Hell, cleaner than it is usually. I couldn't let the thought go. I pondered and pondered and pondered this, until eventually my coffee was done brewing, and my toast was up, so I had to momentarily focus on my supposedly normal daily routine.

I spread the almond butter over my toast, which again, was an unfortunate reminder of my accident last night, and I put some milk in my coffee so I wouldn't have to wait thirty minutes for it to cool down. I wanted to get my caffeine fix in fast. My breakfast tasted plain, but welcoming. It was a friendly sticky note of how my mornings usually went, and how different they were when compared to this one, solely for the fact that that grey monster was sleeping in my bed. The bed I spent money on. The bed I slept on every night. The bed I hoped that the ginger girl would share with me one day. His very presence in the bed made it seem like he thought it was his, and it wasn't. It never would be.

After finishing my breakfast, I went to the bathroom to get myself ready for the day. What day? I don't know. As far as I was concerned, the day became useless the second a freakish grey worm appeared in my bed, but nonetheless, I got myself ready because I wanted to maintain a positive attitude. I wanted to pretend as if everything was okay because if I were to let it get to me, then I would just shoot myself right then and there.

After brushing my teeth, I quickly got into the shower and cleaned myself off. I was never a huge shower person. Most of my good smell came more from body spray than actual hygiene, so my showers were typically five minutes or so, but since I frankly didn't want to be anywhere near that worm anymore, I decided to shower longer than usual. About twenty minutes would do the trick.

Fifteen minutes into my twenty minute shower, I heard a loud noise. It was the sound of a ton of things falling down. Probably food on a shelf. I immediately jumped at the sound of this, and then sprung into action. I ditched the notion of a long shower, dried myself off super fast, and put all of my clothes on. I slammed open the door, and ran into the kitchen, where I saw it.

The worm. There it was again, on my kitchen floor. It was covered in sugar, cereal, chocolate chips, coffee beans, regular beans, lettuce, salt, and cinnamon.

I was about ready to scream.

"FOOD!" he screamed out in the most horrible voice he could.

I didn't say anything. I didn't know what to say.

"I NEED FOOD!"

I finally got the energy to speak.

"What the fuck do you think's spilt all over you?"

"I NEED FOOD OR I'M GOING TO DIE OF STARVATION!"

I couldn't understand it. How could this beast possibly be screaming to me about wanting food when he was covered in it? Doesn't he know what he's done?

"You're covered in it! How can you talk to me about needing food when it's been spilled all over you!? How could you get none of it in your mouth and all of it smeared on your worm skin!?"

He started to cry.

"I'M DYING AS WE SPEAK, FATHER!"

Then, he shat. He shat all over my kitchen floor.

"What the fuck are you doing!?" I screamed out.

"I'M DYING!"

"You're not dying! You're shitting!"

"I AM STARVING SO MUCH THAT THERE IS NO SHIT IN ME AT ALL!"

But this clearly wasn't true. There was a ton of shit in him and him shitting was the proof of it.

"Wrong! There's shit everywhere! You're filled with it! Don't say anything if you're going to lie!"

Then he screamed.

"FEED ME AS I SHIT!"

Now he finally started to make some sense, even though I couldn't understand how someone could want to eat while shitting.

"You want to eat!?" I said. "YOU WANT TO EAT!? IF YOU WANT TO EAT, THEN YOU CAN EAT! YOU CAN EAT EVERYTHING IN MY FUCKING KITCHEN!"

With that, I took out an entire loaf of expired, moldy bread and began to shove pieces of it into his mouth.

"YOU SAID YOU WANTED TO EAT! YOU SAID YOU WANTED THIS! YOU SAID YOU WANTED ALL OF THIS! SO EAT! EAT UP EVERYTHING I SHOVE INTO YOUR SLIMY FUCKING THROAT!" He spit it out again.

"IT'S HORRIBLE!" he screamed. "I CAN'T EAT THIS!"

I didn't take this.

"THAT'S TOO FUCKING BAD! EAT IT ALL!"

Then, he moved his butt up to my face and shot shit at me. Three turds and liquid in-between shot at my face and all over my clothes. And oh God, did I hate it.

"YOU FUCKING DISGRACE!" I screamed at him.

With that, I took a huge bowl out of my cupboard as the worm squealed and hissed and cried at me for food. I shoved the entire loaf into the bowl and took it over to the sink. I poured water into the bowl from the sink and mushed up the water and the bread into a sort of moldy bread smoothie. After that, I poured it all down the worm's throat while holding him down.

"There," I said. "You got your fucking food."

The worm went quiet.

"Speechless, worm?" I said. I hoped that was the truth. But it wasn't. He simply had another way of communication in mind.

The worm let out a long, loud fart into the air. It must have been as loud as a shotgun blast as I stood there just above him. It took no time at all for the smell to fill my nostrils, and after this, I vomited onto the floor, onto the worm as well. He deserved it.

"I made a farty, Daddy!" he said, giggling afterwards.

I wanted to find a knife and stab the worm all over, but I passed out before I had the chance. When I woke up, I didn't see the worm. I'd say that I breathed a sigh of relief because I thought the worm wasn't there, but that isn't the truth. The worm was there and I knew it.

I stood up where the worm used to be and I saw him sitting at my table.

"Sit down, Daddy," the worm said.

"No," I said back.

"But Daddy, you must sit down."

"I refuse."

"It's important that you sit down."

Who did he think he was? He wasn't even a person and he thought he could rule me in my own apartment.

"I'm not letting you control me," I said.

"Sit."

Then, he made a horrible, smiling face as he giggled in the deepest voice he could giggle. I hated the worm more than I hated burning myself, but he wouldn't leave me alone if I didn't sit down, so I did.

"What do you want, worm?"

"Raise me."

"What?"

"Raise me."

"No."

"I make shitties!"

"I know, and that is one of the many reasons why I won't raise you."

"The prophecy."

"What fucking prophecy?"

"The fairies say you must raise me."

"The fairies?"

He paused for a long while.

"My butt jiggles when I shit!"

"I don't care. What's all this talk about fairies?"

"MY BUTT JIGGLES WHEN I SHIT!"

"What does that have to do with the fairies you're talking about!?"

"ARE YOU SAYING MY BUTT DOESN'T JIGGLE WHEN I SHIT!?"

"I'M NOT SAYING ANYTHING ABOUT YOUR BUTT, YOUR SHIT, OR WHETHER IT JIGGLES OR NOT! I'M ASKING WHO THE FAIRIES ARE AND WHY THEY SAY I HAVE TO RAISE A DISGUSTING MONSTROSITY LIKE YOU!"

Then he turned around for his butt to stare at me.

"IT JIGGLESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!"

Then, he shat all over me again. And no, his butt didn't jiggle. Not only did I not know what to say, I didn't know what to think. This creature slithered into my life, and not only did he terrify me with his disgustingness, but also with the fact that he shat everywhere. Andwhat scared me the most was the fact that this newborn was smart enough to speak perfect English and recognize what food, shit, jiggling, and annoyance was, and yet not smart enough to act like a normal person. He was blessed with the gift of intelligence but only in comparison to someone his age.

"Your butt jiggles," I said. I didn't know what else to say. This seemed like the best option.

And then he giggled. He giggled long and hard.

"Thank you, Daddy!"

That seemed to please him. I didn't know whether to be happy for him or to kill myself for making him feel happy, so I just felt apathetic.

"It jiggles well," I said.

"It does!"

"Worm-."

"Thomas."

"What?"

"My name is Thomas, Father."

"Thomas, who are the fairies?"

He froze up again. He stared at me for a long hard while, with his horrible face looking more and more horrible with every second.

"Pee!"

"What, Thomas?"

"Pee!"

With that, a dick magically appeared on him and he pissed all over me. His face contorted into an extremely pleased expression as he continued to pee and pee and pee, making me more and more yellow. He eventually stopped.

Okay, I thought to myself. It's clear asking him about the fairies isn't going to get me any answers, so I might as well not ask. Great. Now what? What am I supposed to do? Actually raise this fucker? I can't do that. I can't raise a cat, let alone a giant grey worm called Thomas. What other options did I have? Any other options? Any other options would be better than actually raising him.

Then, I had an idea. I had a horrible, terrible, awful, wonderful idea. I would pretend to love Thomas. I would fake raise him for as long as I needed to, and then, when the time was right. I would kill him. I would give him fake love, so he wouldn't flip out or shit everywhere, and once he trusted me, I would stab him to death. It was marvellous.

"I love you, Thomas," I said to him.

It felt awful coming from my mouth, but I had to say it for this to work.

"You're the best son a father could hope for."

Did I sound disingenuous? Did I sound like I was lying? Fuck if he cared. He didn't even have ears. I don't know if he liked to hear this or not. He just stared at me, so there was no way of knowing. After a while of him saying nothing to me, I figured it made no more sense to stay there, so I finally went to bed.

"I'm going to bed, Thomas. Have a good night."

With all the courage I could muster, I gave him a kiss on his cheek, and I went to bed. When I was in my bedroom, I took the largest dosage of sleeping pills I could that wouldn't kill me, and I fell into a deep, uncomfortable sleep. I'd like to think that while I was sleeping, in the dining room, Thomas said two words. "Da da." But I can't know that.

The next morning, I woke up in the same bedroom I woke up in every day, and I walked into my kitchen without getting dressed. I wanted to give Thomas a warm good morning immediately so as to get the parental stuff out of the way as soon as possible before I pretended to go to work, but something surprising happened. Thomas worm baby was at the head of the dining room table, and in the middle of the table sat a plate of sloppy joes.

Not bad looking ones either. Steam was coming directly from the sloppy joes and each and every one of them smelt... good.

Was this his doing? Could Thomas worm baby have actually produced a decent sandwich? Impossible. It had to be the work of someone else. Even if he did make a successfully tasty meal, it had to be on accident. There's no way he could do anything right, let alone the culinary arts.

"Thomas, what are these on the table?"

"Food!"

"Food?"

"Food!"

"All right. Food. But what kind of food?"

Thomas worm baby stared at me long and hard, not saying a word. What was with this guy? Did he not have the brain power to speak?

"Sloppy joes!" he finally said.

Well, no shit, Thomas.

"Sloppy joes, Thomas?"

"Sloppy sloppy!"

"But who made the sloppy joes?"

He paused for another long while.

"MINE! MINE! MINE! MINE! MINE! MINE! MINE!" Thomas belted out.

So it was official. Thomas worm baby made an entire tray of sloppy joes. But how? How did he, with no arms or legs, with his brain capacity, manage to make an entire plate of food? How?

"How did you make them, Thomas?"

The longest pause ever occurred.

"Eat!"

"What, Thomas?"

"Eat!"

"Eat this food?"

"Eat eat!"

"What if I don't wanna eat?"

Another pause.

"Then I'll have to kill you."

Fucking what? After showing me the most affection I've ever been shown in my life, he says this? He says that he'll kill me if I don't eat his fucking meal? How can someone who loves me more than my own parents kill me if I don't eat his meal?

"Okay, Thomas. You got me. I'll eat your sloppy joes."

He farted. I guess that's his way of saying "yay". I sat down next to him and grabbed a sloppy joe off the plate. The buns felt amazing and were buttered and shiny. If they were the only thing he fed me, that would have been a good enough meal, but he gave me several sloppy joes for free. I might have thanked him if he were deserving of kindness.

I didn't take the first bite right away. I was too shocked at the whole ordeal. Thomas probably noticed, but if he did, he didn't say anything. He just stared at me with his dumb expression where I couldn't tell whether he was dead or alive. Hopefully the former.

After about a minute of this, I took the first bite, and I was immediately sent to another dimension, though not literally. My mind was flooded with many different tastes at once. Sweetness, saltiness, a hit of sourness. Tons of umami. All of this and more filled my mouth and my nostrils, only with the first bite. I immediately went for another, and it was just as good. I continued to go for bite after bite until I finally finished the sandwich.

Holy shit. Thomas worm baby made a good sandwich. Thomas. Worm. Baby. Made one of the most delicious meals I had ever eaten in my life. I couldn't believe it. I would sit there stunned, unmoving, but I didn't, because I was too busy going back for seconds, and thirds, and fourths, and fifths. Sloppy joe after sloppy joe, as Thomas worm baby watched me scarf it all down. After I had finished the entire tray, I was super full, but all the same, I was happy. I may have a stomach ache for the rest of the day, but at least I enjoyed the food while I was at it.

Then, Thomas worm baby started giggling. What was this? What was he so happy about? There was no way of knowing unless I asked him, but he wasn't the type of person, no, worm, to give proper answers straight up, so I didn't bother to ask. I just waited for him to finish laughing. He giggled for a good thirty seconds until he finally stopped. And then he spoke.

"Shit!" he yelled out.

"What?" I responded, confused as all living hell.

"Shitty witties!"

"What about them?"

Thomas giggled again. "Those sloppy joes are filled with my shit!"

Now I froze up. And after freezing up, I was filled with immediate rage. How the fuck could he have done this? How the hell could this horrible creature shit into buns and give them to me? And they tasted good. Why did they taste good? How the hell could they taste good? It made no sense. This disgusting creature shat into bread and I fucking liked it. How? How? How? How? How? How? How? How? How?

HOW!?

I didn't have an answer. No matter how hard I searched for an answer, I found none. I found none whatsoever. I wanted to die. I wanted to kill someone. I wanted to fucking die and kill everybody else. But before I could do that, my stomach began to churn. It was time.

I vomited all over Thomas worm baby. Thomas was covered head to toe in my vomit. Under normal circumstances, I would feel bad, but he deserved it. He deserved all of this. He deserved to bathe in my puke. After I was done, he once again stared at me long and hard, and then he screamed.

A loud, high-pitched, horrible scream escaped from him as he stared at me. He just screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed while staring at me.

What the hell was with this worm? What did he think was going to arise from this? Nothing good, that's for sure, but he kept on going. After a while of this, I had to try to get him to stop.

"Okay, you can stop now."

He continued.

"You can stop now, Thomas."

He continued.

"THOMAS, I AM YOUR FATHER, AND I ASK OF YOU TO STOP SCREAMING NOW!"

That was the loudest shout I had ever shouted. My voice hurt immediately after, but I didn't know how else to get across to him. And apparently it worked, since he stopped.

"There," I said. "See how easy it is when you try?"

He threw a fit. He farted, and then jumped off of the chair and squirmed all over the floor, farting and saying "WAH", like a human baby would.

"Thomas, what the hell are you doing!?" I screamed at him, but he didn't answer.

He just kept farting and letting out bunny-sized turds all over the floor as he squirmed and moved his horrible body in contorted ways. He was clearly angry, but he didn't seem to be exerting himself in any angry way. He wasn't breaking things or yelling, per se. He was just being strange. More than ever I wanted to kill him.

Up until now, I was either stopped or I just didn't feel like it, but now, there was nothing stopping me and I really did want to kill him. It would be hard with him dodging me by accident, but still. It made sense to do it now.

I ran into my bedroom and took out my longest belt, and then ran back into the kitchen and took out a knife. The worm was too busy squirming and screaming and farting on the floor for him to notice me, so I was at no risk of him noticing me.

"Thomas, Daddy's got a surprise for you!" I yelled at him.

He just screamed. I think that was his way of saying he was excited. While he was squealing and squirming, I raised my belt, and then whipped him. He immediately screamed.

"OWIE!" he said.

"This was the surprise, Thomas. I'm finally treating you like a father would treat a son."

I whipped him again.

"OW! OW! OW! OW!"

"Screaming isn't gonna help you, Thomas. Only being a decent son can help, and that time has passed."

I continued to whip him and whip him and whip him, as he screamed at each thrash of my belt.

"THIS IS THE MOST UNREASONABLE FORM OF PAIN KNOWN TO MAN!" Thomas screamed at me.

I didn't care about his cries for help. I continued to whip him and whip him and whip him, until he no longer had the energy to protest. After all of this, I finally pulled out my knife, and upon seeing it, he started crying.

"Now you'll be with your kind forever, Thomas."

I stabbed him where I thought his heart was. Of course, I couldn't be sure where the heart was on this creature, but I could guess. And then, shit came out of his wound. It squirted all over me, covering me head to toe, like blood. But it stopped quickly. No way. Was he immortal? Was he literally a creature filled with shit? There's no way the shit was giving him life. He had to be immortal. But why him, of all things?

"You cannot kill your destiny," Thomas said in the calmest voice he could muster.

I struck him with the handle in anger, and he started to cry again. Then, something horrible happened. Thomas worm fetuses crawled from the shit.

They all cried.

I ripped them all off of me and threw them outside the window, hopefully killing them all. I now had to rely on my last hope.

"That's it, Thomas," I said. "If I can't stop you from living, I can stop you from shitting."

I went back into my room, the only place where I could find comfort anymore, and I took out a buttplug. Why do I have a buttplug? Please don't ask me. It's a longer story than this. But regardless, I have a buttplug, and with that buttplug, I ran out of my room, and what did I do with it? I shoved it into Thomas's ass and glued it in there as well. Beyond just gluing it in, I taped it in. Beyond this, I sewed up his wound so no shit could come out of there either, and since it's impossible to poop from your eyes or your mouth, I left them untouched.

"This is not what you want, Thomas," I said. "But it's what I want."

Thomas took a while to answer.

"This isn't what you want either."

"Yeah. Right."

With that, I left him there on my kitchen floor, and I went to bed. Knowing he could no longer cause any havoc at all, I fell into a deep, peaceful sleep.

When I woke up, I heard Thomas sobbing. Great. What else could I expect? It made no sense that he wouldn't sob. He was an infantile worm. I lied down in my room for a while more, but during this time, he never stopped sobbing. I would have hoped that he would stop eventually, but it never did. I finally had enough of this and got out of my room.

"What the fuck is it, Thomas!?"

Then, when I got in the kitchen, I saw a horrible sight. It was Thomas worm baby, but not as I knew him.

He was huge.

"Thomas, what happened to you!?"

"You made me big, Father!"

"This isn't my fault! Now just tell me! What happened!?"

"PLUG!"

"WHAT ABOUT THE PLUG!?"

"PULL IT OUT!"

So that was it. The buttplug made him grow. He was filled up with shit. That's why he was going number two so much. He had to empty his bowels in order to not grow to the size of a small train.

Wait a minute. There it was. A small train. There was a tank engine shell by the old dump at the edge of city limits, and it had a hole in it where machinery used to go. It would fit Thomas.

The only trouble was, how would I get him in there? How could I get him in there? It was a mystery unto itself, but then I had an idea.

"Thomas, can you still move?" I asked.

"YES."

"Wanna follow Daddy somewhere?"

"YES. YES. YES. YES. YES. YES. YES. YES. YES."

Perfect. I could take him out through my garage, try to make sure no one sees him, and then force him to go into that shell. And once he gets in, he won't be able to get out. It's too small for him to leave. He'll grow and grow and grow. Until he bursts. It was the perfect plan.

I took a huge tarp out from my closet and I walked with Thomas under the tarp with me, shoving him through the door and out of the garage door. I know that it's not typical to see a tarp moving on the street, but then, neither is a man walking with a huge, grey worm, so this seemed like a good idea at the time.

Eventually, we made our way to the dump, and I took the tarp off.

"Where are we, Daddy?" he said with his eyes closed.

"Open your eyes and you'll see," I told him.

He paused.

"Where are we?"

I decided to ignore him and simply order him to do what I needed him to do.

"Thomas, turn around."

"Wa?"

I suppose that was his way of saying why.

"I said turn around."

He paused for several moments before finally turning around, his butt now facing the train shell. I took a piece of wood nearby and placed it down as sort of a staircase leading up into the hole where the mechanics used to be.

"Now slither backwards," I said.

He waited thirty seconds to answer. "Okay."

So he did. He slithered backwards into the shell. He continued to slither backwards until his ass eventually moved in. It didn't fit.

"STUCK!" he screamed at me.

I didn't care about this.

"Keep slithering, Thomas," I said.

"IT HURTS!"

"I DON'T CARE, THOMAS! YOU'RE GOING TO SLITHER INTO THAT SHELL OR YOU'RE GOING TO DIE!"

"I HATE IT!"

"SLITHER IN NOW!"

He tried to move himself out but he couldn't. He started sobbing.

"YOU BLUBBERING MASS!" I screamed at him. "IF YOU WON'T DO IT, I WILL!"

With that, I pushed him in with all of my strength. He was quite light since he was simply made out of skin and shit, but it was still kind of a struggle. He sobbed the entire time and tried to push himself out, but he couldn't do anything. He couldn't even fart in protest. He just had to let me push him into his shell.

"Open your eyes now, Thomas."

He did so.

"Where am I?" he asked, calmed down.

"Where you belong," I said.

"That doesn't answer my question."

"I don't care."

With that, I walked away.

"Don't leave me here!" Thomas screamed at me in protest. "I can't survive in a shell! Please! I want my father! I want Da-da!"

Whatever he said next, I didn't listen to, because by then, Thomas worm baby was no longer a part of my life. There was no need to pay attention to him. He was now a really useless tank engine, and no longer a burden on my life.

That night, I went to the store to get a pack of cigarettes.

---

Written by Tristan Foss
Content is available under CC BY-SA

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