Young Writers Society

Monterey Jack sat, huddled in the corner of an operating room, cradling his head in his hands and lingering on the embarrassing encounter that had just taken place. Monterey Jack, or Monty, was a man who was named on behalf of his mother’s favorite cheese. He had recently graduated from medical school with the intention of becoming a surgeon. This career, as of late, was a flop. Monty was a basket case; a real nervous piece of work. He was essentially afraid of everything. His greatest fears included ducks and the very cheese he was named after. There was no reason behind his fear of ducks, but his fear of Monterey Jack cheese had come about after his mother had eaten a contaminated piece for lunch one day. A few short minutes later, Monty had found her stiff, dead body on the floor. Traumatized, Monty had vowed never to work at a restaurant. After much begging, he had managed to convince his rich Aunt Alva to help him pay for his education. His Aunt Alva, along with his mother, would not be impressed if they could see him now.

The mayhem started in the midst of a heart transplant. Like every surgeon, Monty possessed an iron stomach. Oddly enough, blood was one of the few substances that did not disturb him. The head surgeon had given him the simple task of handing over the freshly donated heart and disposing of the old one. Unreasonably nervous, Monty was trembling uncontrollably. His teeth chattered noisily beneath his mask. Just as the surgeon was about to take the healthy heart from him, he bit his tongue. The sudden pain startled him and he tossed the organ. Like a grotesque bird, it flew through the air and landed in a bin containing all of the previously removed bodily materials from that day. At that point, Monty was so flooded with stress hormones he couldn’t think clearly. He ran like a mad man to the bin of gore and began discarding it's contents in search for the heart.

“I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry!” he repeated, almost as though he had a verbal tick. The man’s strange behavior took the surgeons and nurses by surprise. They swiftly crouched low to avoid being pelted by gobs of carnage. Regrettably, the head surgeon, Dr. Francis, was unable to take cover in time and received a face full of kidney! When Monty found the heart, he tossed it to Dr. Francis. Dr. Francis, however, failed to retrieve the organ because he was unconscious. The flabbergasted nurses and surgeons loyally rushed to aid their fallen chief. One of them, a tough woman who was built like a wall, approached Monty. Her bulk towered over him, making him feel like a helpless ant. Her title was Nurse Marge, and she terrified Monty.

“You Neanderthal!” she cursed. “Fetch me that replacement! Don’t you dare screw this operation up! If this procedure is not carried out successfully, you’ll have to live with this patient’s death on your shoulders for the rest of your life!” Monty nodded frantically.

“Y-yes ma’am. I’m so sorry ma’am. Right away ma’am,” he stammered and hurried toward the direction he had thrown the heart. Completely focused on the task, he forgot to take into account the layer of slippery waste that coated the floor. As a result, he slipped and landed heavily on the only replacement heart for the now condemned patient.

“M-m-ma’am,” he whispered, desperately trying to hold back tears, “I’m dreadfully sorry, b-but I accidently damaged the replacement.” Delicately, he handed Marge the sad, deflated organ. The nurse shook her head in dismay and heaved Dr. Francis onto a stretcher.

“You’re pitiful!” she announced as she stomped out of the room. The other surgeons and nurses shot him disgusted looks and trailed behind her.

Monty hoped those nurses would revive Dr. Francis, only to diagnose him with amnesia. No such luck. Dr. Francis walked into the room as if he had never fainted.

“WHAT THE BLAZES HAVE YOU DONE TO MY OPERATING ROOM!?” he bellowed angrily. Monty gulped, he could still see a smear of kidney on the surgeon’s face.

“I’m ever so sorry, sir. It’s all my fault, sir. I take full responsibility, sir. Please don’t fire me, sir!” Monty was so distressed he couldn’t help but ramble. Perhaps he would be able to talk his way out of losing his job. Dr. Francis gritted his teeth. He was frustrated and annoyed.

Bending down beside him he said, “You, lad are impossible! This is the third patient to die on my operating table this week. And why?! Because you’re too much of a ninny hammer to do your job properly. I’ve been patient with you, Jack. The fact of the matter is, you don’t belong here. To be an effective surgeon you have to have a level head and steady hands. You possess neither of these traits and no useful skills to compensate. I’m sorry.” Monty sighed and twiddled his thumbs. He was ashamed and avoided making eye contact with the surgeon. “Clean this place up and get the heck out of here. I’ll send someone in to keep an eye on you.” Dr. Francis then stood and exited without another word.

Monty stayed late to clean up his gruesome mess. He finished sometime around midnight and figured, by that time, druggies would be hanging around his apartment. The building itself wasn’t exactly in stellar condition. Any old roof would do when you had no money and nowhere else to go. At night, the twinkling city crawled with dangerous men and women. To be sure he wouldn’t be touched, Monty stroked his cheek with a bit of blood. Where he lived, his risk of contracting HIV was minimal compared to his risk of getting a switchblade upside the ribs.

Halfway down a city block, he saw an odd sight. Dancing on the sidewalk before him was a man dressed as a raccoon and singing opera! Monty prayed he wasn’t a drunk.

“Look! Look! Look at me! I was a raccoon, dead as can be! I was squished by the wheels of a large Chevy. For a moment I thought I would be left to rot, but then some anxious men came and took me. At the Anxious Taxidermist we cut and gut them, stuff and fluff them, and make them look brand new. Once you see them, you’ll realize: they’re so life like, it’s as if they never died!” Unsure how to react to the song, Monty applauded politely. The raccoon character wore a tag that read: Hi, I’m Luigi and I’m ready to assist you at the Anxious Taxidermist. Monty’s curiosity was piqued. In his final year of high school, he had developed an interest in the art of taxidermy and had taken it up as a hobby. All through his school life he had been targeted by bullies because of his stutter. His mother had taken him to a number of speech-language pathologists, but none of them were able to eliminate his stammer permanently. Taxidermy had provided an escape. His mother knew it made him happy; though she had not enjoyed coming home to a fridge full of roadkill, she had allowed him to continue his hobby. Once she realized he had a talent for sewing up the creatures, she hadn’t seemed to mind so much. In fact, Monty was certain he still had a box of stuffed squirrels somewhere in his closet. He knew where The Anxious Taxidermist was; he had walked by it on his way to the grocery store a number of times. An idea struck him just then.

“Excuse me, Mr. Luigi?” Monty tapped the man on his fuzzy shoulder. “I’m Monterey Jack. I j-just recently l-lost my j-job and w-was wondering if you w-were l-looking for another t-taxidermist. I c-can sh-show you m-my w-work if you l-like. I sh-should w-warn you though, I’m d-deathly afraid of d-ducks and c-could n-not b-bring m-myself to s-stuff one.” The raccoon man spun around and, astonishingly, responded to Monty’s request in the form of a song.

“Ducks in my store? Not any more! Why my friend you fit the bill, indeed this position you shall fill. At eight am your job will start, so be a gentleman and do your part!” Speechless, Monty shook the man’s paw.

“Are you s-serious!” he cried, finding his voice. “Y-you don’t w-want to see my w-work f-first?!” Luigi ruffled Monty’s thick, sandy-blonde hair.

“No, no, lad. I believe you’re what I seek. The sight of blood does not grieve you; you have it smeared across your cheek!” Monty grinned enormously. At the very least, this job was going to be interesting. Maybe if he could keep his job long enough he would be able to afford a place that didn’t reek of smoke and booze. This prospect delighted him hugely.

“Thank-you, sir. This is a great honour, sir. I won’t disappoint you, sir.” Monty was so overwhelmed with joy that he embraced the man in the raccoon suit. At that moment, a police officer on night patrol happened to cruise by and catch the two men holding each other. Most officers on night patrol would assume the two men were hugging because they were married. This officer, however, had remembered to drink his coffee. He was familiar with the kind of city scum that lurked around park benches after dark. For all he knew, one of the men was being embraced against his will.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” he greeted. “Might I inquire as to why you’re embracing each other at twenty-four hundred hours?” Monty jumped. It suddenly occurred to him that men his age were not suppose to be clasping other men― especially not men they had just met― in affectionate ways.

“What ever do you mean colonel? I am a raccoon, and raccoons are nocturnal,” sang Luigi. Monty nodded in agreement. The officer rolled his eyes to the starry sky. He had more important matters to attend to than dealing with a sassy, opera singing man in a raccoon costume.

“Alright, I’ll let you two off the hook with a warning this time. I’m watching you coony!” The colonel nodded his head in dismissal, and drove off into the night. Monty sighed in relief. He had meant to thank Luigi for covering for him, but the rodent man was already out of sight.

When Monty entered his apartment, he was so exhausted that he toppled into his bed like a stack of cards. Not even the partying boozers next door could keep him up.

His buzzer sounded at eight, but Monty left way before that. Luigi wouldn’t care if Monty showed up early on his first day. Everybody knows raccoons can’t tell time!

When Monty walked through the door, Luigi was pleased and began to sing,“Attention everyone! Look who’s here. The thought of you not showing up was our only fear. Now that you have arrived, let’s all shout and cheer!” As if on cue, two other male taxidermists leapt out from behind a stuffed mammal and began to chant, “Hurrah, he has come! Our new, anxious chum!” They spoke with pronounced Australian accents and paraded around the shop like a bunch of carnival clowns. The whole ordeal was so ridiculous that Monty burst into a fit of laughter.

“Welcome, anxious one, to The Anxious Taxidermist! I’m Yankee Doodle. This ugly bloke beside me is my brother, Corny Jello.” Monty caught his breath. These Australians had an excellent sense of humour. Nonetheless, he apologized for laughing and introduced himself properly.

“Please excuse my sibling’s childish behavior,” remarked the man known as Corny Jello. He was practically identical to his brother. “He’s still a mere child and doesn’t understand proper etiquette. He’s too busy obsessing over silly American baseball teams.” Both men were bulky, tanned, and beyond the average height for most basketball players. Monty’s appearance was a stark contrast. He was fair skinned, wiry, and at the most five foot seven.

“Let this store be familiar to our new fellow, Yankee Doodle and Corny Jello. Once he has seen all there is to see, give him a mongoose and let him be.” Luigi belted his instructions, still wearing his raccoon head.

“Yes sir!” the Australian men saluted. The two of them gave Monty a quick tour of the place. It was a modest size, but packed with stuffed creations. Shelves of rodent specimens lined the walls. Other larger creatures were scattered randomly around the shop. One of them was a donkey with a sticker on its flank indicating it’s reservation for a restaurant called Jack Astor’s. Another was a grizzly bear that Corny Jello had named Edward Scissor Claws. Looking up, Monty saw a vast number of birds dangling from the ceiling. There was an eagle in mid flight, a couple of flirting sparrows, and an entire flock of geese flying in V formation. What Monty found peculiar was the mongoose at the tip of the V. When he asked the Australian brothers why it was there, they told him that it was an act of whimsy and not to tell Luigi. There were also donuts, but they were stale.

Monty was relieved that the place was duck free; however, he could have done without the swans floating in the toilets. The lamps with the weasles attached to them were also a tad unsettling. His only real worry, regarding his job at The Anxious Taxidermist, was the fact that it was located next to a French restaurant called Escargot to Go. The place was famous, not only for their buttery snails, but for their stuffed barbequed duck breasts. Monty had heard a rumour that monterey jack cheese was used as the primary ingredient in the duck stuffing. The mere thought of the nightmarish combination made him shudder. To take his mind off of his fears, Monty began scooping the intestinal waste from his mongoose’s body.

“Hey mates, what do you say we catch a Yankee’s game on the telly?” Yankee slapped a foam finger on his hand.

“Why do you even bother asking?” snapped his brother. “ It’s not as if you care whether or not we want to watch a baseball game. Do you even realize what kind of people watch those games? Flushed teenyboppers, that’s who!” Yankee slammed his dead goose on the table so forcefully the creature’s eyeball dislodged from its socket.

“You little humdrum!” spat Yankee, furiously. “ By insulting the Yankees, you’re insulting my name and judging our parents’ name selecting abilities! I’m proud to hold the title Yankee Doodle. It happens to be used in a classic American silly song. Your name sounds like a cheap, gelatinous dessert!” Corny Jello gasped and stuck out his tongue. Yankee bared his teeth and began to sing Yankee Doodle at the top of his lungs. Monty had been right; this job was interesting.

“What kind of idiots did you ire Luigi? You wouldn’t see my professionally trained staff behaving like zat!” The French accent made Monty cringe. He knew that accent anywhere. It was Francois, the owner of Escargot to Go. Once, on his way to the market, he had unintentionally bumped into the man while his arms were full of blocks of fresh cheese. Monty had frozen with fear while Francois had shook his fist and shouted French profanities, all the while chasing after his rolling wheels of cheese.

“What is he doing here?!” Monty wondered, trying to make himself invisible. Francois noticed him.

“Oh look, ow adorable! You never told me you ad a grandson Luigi!” Obviously the man didn’t recognize Monty. “Come out, come out petit garcon so Francois may greet you properly.” Monty groaned, and cautiously made his way toward the snooty man dressed in pink.

“I-I’m afraid you’re m-mistaken s-sir. I’m n-not L-Luigi’s s-son. S-sorry, b-but I w-work here.” He held out his quivering hand for Francois to shake. The French man turned up his curly nose in distaste.

“Gross!” he exclaimed. Monty shrunk back, he could feel his face flushing. “I was talking about zat cute raccoon pup over zere. But non. What I want is a duck.” Monty inhaled sharply at the mentioning of ducks. The breath caught in the back of his throat, and he couldn’t breath. Terror gripped him, rooting him to his spot like a tree. Even Corny Jello and Yankee Doodle ceased their squabbling long enough to gape at the man’s preposterous request.

“Francois, I know your situation really sucks, but you must understand, I’m allergic to ducks!” Francois stroked his toothpick mustache in thought.

“Very well. Zeir is a gorgeous mongoose I ad my eye on anyway.” Without permission, Francois reached up and plucked a fat mongoose down from a shelf. “Zis mongoose will look so much better in my restaurant― don’t you zink, Luigi?” Luigi took the bills from Francois and shooed him out of his store.

Monty’s day ended at around three in the afternoon. Many of Luigi’s customers were men in the restaurant business, looking for stuffed moose heads. Some were bereaved pet owners, looking to have their deceased pet stuffed, and others were merely collectors. Other than the appearance of Francois, Monty had enjoyed his first day at The Anxious Taxidermist and was reluctant to return to his foul smelling chicken coop.

That night, while it was still dark, Monty awoke with an acute hunger raging inside his belly. He exited the building with a picture of an ooey, gooey bean burrito in the back of his mind. His stomach roared, and he swore he could smell the aroma of a bean burrito nearby.

“Ahoy there mate, want a bite of my bean burrito?” Monty jerked in surprise, and whipped around. It was Yankee and his brother having a midnight snack.

“You’re a rather jumpy lad, aren’t you?” observed Corny Jello. He appeared to be holding some sort of green, wiggly dessert. “We were just on our way to The Anxious Taxidermist to get an early start on a cocker spaniel commission we got the other day. We managed to nick the key to the store from Luigi while his back was turned. Now that you’re here, you may as well come and help us.” Monty nodded. He was thrilled. No one had ever wanted his assistance before.

“Funny how we all ended up meeting here by coincidence,” remarked Corny Jello. “ I wouldn’t touch any of his slop if I were you. Try some of my jello instead.” Before Monty knew it, the two of them were shoving their food in front of him, insisting that one’s taste of cuisine was better than the other’s. By the time they reached The Anxious Taxidermist, Monty’s insides were no longer crawling with hunger.

“ELP! ELP! ZIS IS A DISASTER! GET OUT OF FRANCOIS’ BISTRO YOU LITTLE MONGREL!” The owner of Escargot to Go was evidently in distress. Monty shivered, suddenly the food in his stomach was not sitting well.

“It sounds as though that chap is in a bit of a pickle,” stated Corny, casually. Monty admired the man for his nonchalance. “ Monty, my good pal, you hold the fort down. My senseless sibling and I will check out the commotion at Escargot to Go.” A key was hastily thrust into Monty’s palm. Yankee flicked Corny for calling him senseless. Then the brothers were off, elbowing and jabbing their way to the restaurant.

Monty gulped as he entered The Anxious Taxidermist. The lights were off and the darkness was so heavy it felt as though it was suffocating him. The silhouettes of the taxidermy lingered in the walls. Every time he blinked, he saw one move. He could feel his fear taking over as his body began to quake.

“They’re not real. They’re not real. They’re not real,” he repeated the phrase over and over in his head. He took in a deep breath, allowing his chest to expand with air, and slowly let it out.

“L-Luigi? Are you the-there?” A blood-curdling snarl came from behind him. Monty’s heart thrashed ferociously. Every beat was a bomb, detonating in his ear. A hot breath tickled the hairs on the back of his neck. Instinctively, his pupils dilated and his vision increased.

“Please don’t let it be a duck!” he prayed and gazed over his shoulder. It was Edward Scissor Claws, and he was alive.

“G-g-g-g-good evening M-M-Mr. Edward S-S-Scissor C-C-Claws, s-s-sir.” A bang ripped through the sky and Monty’s heart stopped, frozen with icy terror. The bear plummeted to the floor; a shaggy carpet at Monty’s feet.

“They’re no longer dead when their eyes glow red.” A feverish chill swept through Monty’s body as he saw Luigi step out from the shadows with a tranquilizing gun aimed at him. Knees knocking painfully, he raised his hands in surrender. The bulging, googly eyes on the raccoon’s head suddenly burned bright red.

“No! Don’t use a tranquilizer gun! Cork guns are so much more fun!” A second Luigi stepped from the hollow darkness and pinned the interloper to the floor, yanking the weapon from his grasp. Consequently, the evil Luigi fell on the trigger and another shot erupted. Monty felt the drowsiness before he felt the pain. He staggered to one side, grasping his injury. Sirens wailed and in marched Corny, Yankee, the police, and Francois with a duck on his head and a live mongoose attached to his face.

“Young man, are you aware that you have a dart embedded in your hamstring?” Monty was too busy having a breathing spell to respond to the cop.

“D-D-D-D-DUCK!” he shrieked. His eyes rolled back into their sockets and then he fell, caught by the brawny arms of Yankee Doodle and Corny Jello.

Monty awoke to the sound of someone sobbing. His vision fixed on a broad figure sitting beside him in front of a television, blubbering. He sat up, wincing. His leg was paralyzed with a dull ache, and he was unable to move it. The man bawling profusely beside him was Yankee Doodle. Monty was flattered. The man was worried to tears over him!

“Curse you Red Socks!” he swore. “If that chunky scamp in the yellow raincoat hadn’t been such a distraction, the Yankees would have been victorious!” Monty silently cursed the game of baseball. He cleared his throat to get the man’s attention. Yankee sniffed, “Monty, you’re awake. Crikey mate, that dart was embedded real deep. They had to operate on you.” Monty wished he was still unconscious. He was back where he had started― the operating room. Corny, Francois, the twin Luigis, and the night Patroller, Colonel Popcorn, filed into the room.

“Pull yourself together you yellow bellied sapsucker!” Corny struck Yankee over the head and Yankee responded by poking Corny with his foam finger. The colonel soon stood between the two of them.

“You dregs of society! Quit bickering!” he barked. Everyone hushed. “Now, Monsieur Francois, would you kindly explain what happened at your restaurant?” All eyes were on Francois.

“Well, officer, ze plump and expensive mallard zat I ordered, finally arrived. As usual, I was going to marinate it at night and let it sleep, soaking up all ze flavors of ze juices. But non! As Francois entered is kitchen, e found it an absolute wreck! Zat monstrosity zat I purchased from Luigi would ave demolished my classy restaurant if zoes funny Australian boys adn’t elped me.” Francois winked at the brothers. “By ze way,” he whispered, “if you two are interested in leaving zat stinky shop, I might consider offering you positions as waiters.” Colonel Popcorn silenced Francois and turned to the two Luigis.

“Alright, which one of you is the owner of The Anxious Taxidermist?” The two men, wearing identical raccoon costumes, pointed at each other. Colonel Popcorn sighed, “Is there no way to differentiate you two?” It was then that Monty spoke up.

“S-so s-sorry f-for s-speaking out, M-Mr. P-Popcorn, b-but th-the real L-Luigi is allergic t-to d-ducks.” Francois snickered. Behind his designer sunglasses, he rolled his eyes.

“ I believe zat along with flying pigs and ze tooz fairy! Zere is no way zis man could possibly be allergic to ducks. I’ve been carrying one in my Gucci bag this whole time!” Francois’ arm disappeared into the oversized bag and came back out holding the feathery neck of a stuffed duck. “ In ze end Luigi, Francois always gets what e wants. I found a different taxidermist to stuff me a duck. If you’re so allergic to zem, prove it!” He flapped the lifeless bird in front of the two men. Monty shielded his eyes from the abomination. The sight of the bird would send convulsions through his shoulders. He didn’t want the others to see him sweat over a little duck. The first Luigi fell to the floor, clutching his head and tugging at his raccoon ears in torment. The second Luigi twiddled his thumbs guiltily as the other one writhed and cried at his feet.

“Okay! Okay! I’m the fraud!” confessed the second Luigi. “I’m not Luigi, I’m his cousin, Waluigi. I’m an animal rights activist and I think it’s cruel to turn the bodies of animals into lawn ornaments. You don’t see the stuffed bodies of people on display for everyone to gawk at! I think you taxidermists are sick! I wanted to teach you all a lesson, so I drugged my cousin and tied him up in the back of his own store!” As he spoke, Waluigi flung his arms about passionately. Monty wasn’t sure, but he figured something was definitely awry with Luigi’s cousin. “ Then I switched all of his stuffed animals to live, stunned animals. I’ve been impersonating him this entire time. Instead of wearing his costume, I stole his extra one. That way, in the event that he escaped, no one would be able to tell which Luigi was real.” Now Monty knew Waluigi wasn’t right inside. A true animal rights activist wouldn’t have tranquilized dozens of creatures and stuffed them into a congested shop just to prove a point. Colonel Popcorn smiled as if the truth had been elementary to him, and bound the man’s paws in a pair of handcuffs. The corner of Francois’ mouth twitched. Unimpressed, he tucked the bird back into his man purse. The real Luigi brushed himself off and waved to his cousin as he was dragged out of the room.

“You owe me Luigi!” he screamed. “If your eye hadn’t been gouged out by a mad duck when you were little, I would have let you take the blame for my actions!” Monty’s wide eyes grew wider as Luigi tugged off his raccoon head. An eye patch covered his left eye.

“My cousin is right. When I was a boy, a duck I did fight. Now, thanks to that duck, this side has no sight.” Luigi touched his eye patch, ashamed. Then, once again, his face was swallowed up by the raccoon head. Francois shifted uncomfortably.

“I too ave a confession,” he admitted. “ Zis mustache is counterfeit!” He stripped the hair from his lip and tossed it into a nearby garbage pail. “Zis whole experience has taught me zat, without a mustache, I’m still gorgeous!” Corny and Yankee both whooped with laughter. Monty found himself chuckling too, and discovered that it hurt to laugh.

“Oh shut-up you dizering duncebuckets! I’ll ave you know zat I don’t care what you zink of me!” Francois turned up his nose and left the operating room just as Dr. Francis was entering.

“Speak of the devil,” he muttered, upon seeing Monty. “You can leave soon, Jack. We patched you up.”

“Th-thank-you s-sir,” responded Monty. He grunted and swung his legs over the side of the bed. Dr. Francis rushed to his side in a fluster.

“ WAIT, WAIT! YOUR LEG IS STILL NUMB IT WON’T SUPPORT YOUR…” Monty jumped from the bed and collapsed into the surgeon, knocking him to the floor.

“I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry I’m so sorry!” Monty wailed, but the man was unconscious. “Not again!” he grumbled.

“Come, anxious four. Let us redirect Monty to the door.” The Australian brothers stood on either side of the skittish Monty and escorted him out the exit before he could cause himself anymore distress.

Monty’s new workplace turned out to be a success. Luigi and the brawling brothers accepted him for the timid, quirky person he was. His days of being a freak, a target for harassment, were over. Even the shoppers at The Anxious Taxidermist enjoyed trying to socialize with him. His jittery personality became the soul of the shop and people started calling him The Anxious Taxidermist. They didn’t mind the fact that he bumbled like a babbling baboon. The stuffed animals didn’t perturb them either. For ethical reasons, the taxidermists only stuffed animals that had died of natural causes. Luigi turned away all hunters looking for business. With his new earned money, Monty found himself a more decent apartment. His quality of life improved immensely. The numerous fears that had once weighed him down, didn’t seem so heavy anymore. For the first time, he was content.

The End