Free Flesheaters and Bloodsuckers Anonymous: A Dark Humor by HC Hammond

clearance.” 
                A series of harsh
grating sounds erupted from Zork and it took him a moment to realize the slug
was laughing in its own strange way. 
                “Yeah, totally
top secret.  You’d flip if you knew the truth,” Zork managed to grate out along
with its disturbing laughter.  The G-men remained stone faced, they were
apparently used to Zork but Harold wasn’t.  The laughter made him
uncomfortable. 
                Zork sure drew a
lot of attention for a bloodsucking or possibly flesheating monster which
should really shun the attention of others.  Didn’t it know what
happened to those like him?  Horror stories of getting staked, burned and
having heads cut off filled popular culture and the nightly news.  At the very
least, creatures like the werewolf wouldn’t be able to get jobs if  people knew
what they played around at every twenty eight days or so.  Harold didn’t know
what the hell it was, but a three foot slug probably wasn’t welcome anywhere in
the first place.  The slug’s crap still stubbornly refused to leave Harold’s
trench coat despite repeated washing and a trip to the dry cleaners.  Maybe
Zork had the G-men for protection from angry dry cleaners.
                Were Harold to
hazard a guess, he’d peg the slug as some mutation created in a government
laboratory gone bad.  Rumors persisted that the government was working with
Abeos to create a kind of bio-weapon.  Harold didn’t really subscribe to
conspiracy theories, but he couldn’t debunk a talking slug sitting right in
front of him.  The slug ate people.  It’s slimy.  It had a bad attitude.  Zork
had B-rated horror movie written all over it.
                Harold held his
hand to the side of his face to hide from curious onlookers in the pie joint. 
“Shut up!”  He muttered at Zork.  Agent Bergstrom, sitting next to Zork,
finally jabbed it in the side with an elbow.  Zork’s laughter ceased. 
                “Right, listen
boys, why don’t you go enjoy your coffees at the bar while my group buddy and I
get our bonding out of the way.”  Zork’s eyestalks motioned meaningfully
towards the bar.  Harold stood up to allow Agent Potts to squeeze out of the
booth as they both quietly left with their drinks, but not before Agent
Bergstrom’s very meaningful glance at Harold. 
                “That was easy.”
                Zork deftly
reached an eyestalk around the handle of its coffee mug and lifted it to an
open mouth for a sip.  “Eh, not really.  They’ve got me on a pretty tight
leash.  Try anything in the least suspicious they’d be back over here in a
flash, guns blazing and all.  Tell me, are they looking?”
                Harold glanced at
the two agents and saw one openly watching.  He avoided Potts gaze.  “Yeah.”
                “Okay,” Zork
shifted around on its side of the booth and changed position.  “Slide your
hands around under the bottom of the table.”
                “What?”
                “Just do it kid. 
I’m looking for something.”
                Harold
tentatively pressed his hands against the particle board under their dining
table.  His fingers encountered dried gum and other unpleasant substances.  “Anything
in particular you’re looking for?”
                “Bugs, they
always bug me to record what I’m saying.”
                Something slimy
crossed the tips of his fingers and he drew back from the table.  His hand
covered in slime, again.  This was going to be a recurring problem with Zork,
he could tell. 
                "Ah ha!”
Zork muttered triumphantly.  Grunting, it shifted around again.  “Can you tell
if they’re suspicious?”
                “Aren’t they
supposed to be?”
                The slug’s bottom
half slid up on top of