Child, tucked tight into bed, smiles slyly at Father, who recognizes the reflection of his own deviousness. “You didn’t.” The smile spreads as senior sniffs. “Stinky dude.”

“My farts don’t smell as bad as you.”

The playful insult adds another hair to Father’s chin. “True, true. You have to go to the bathroom?”

“No.”

Father sits on the corner of bed. “You know why we use the toilet, right?” Confusion on Child’s face; Father nods knowingly. “It’s not fun for anyone. It has to be done, though; it’s the only way to feed Muckols.”

“Muck-ols?” Child’s mouth tries out the sounds for the first time.

“Yup. He eats poop and drinks pee.” Father smiles at Child’s giggly knees throwing waves through bedsheet sea, “It does sound funny, doesn’t it?”

“You’re silly.”

“Sometimes. But Muckols is real. I’ve met it myself.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Remember the crick, you said the water was gross? That’s his home.”

“You didn’t talk to anyone but me and Mommy there.”

“Well that’s not when it happened. I was little, like you. And for a couple of days straight I had accidents in bed.” Child eyes shift guiltily; Father pretends not to notice, “So the last night of that I’m sleeping then I wake up wet. But I’d slept through peeing, what opened my eyes was the shaking. Whole house.

Remember, Grandpa’s, the bathroom across from my old room? The toilet is newer than the rest of it because that night it burst off the ground – Muckols crawled out after, dragging himself out of the pipes,” Father claws at the air, “Clop, clop, the monster came toward me and it was scary but the smell – the smell was even worse -”

Later, in bed, Father tells Mother of Child using bathroom before going to sleep. “How’d you swing that?” She asks; he retells Muckols’ story. “Aw – why so disgusting – now everytime we talk about the potty we’re gonna have to mention your made-up shit demon.”

Father raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t make-up Muckols. I don’t know anything about where it came from. My dad told me, but he said his dad told him, I think -”

“I don’t care if it came from the greatest grandfather you have. It’s gross.”

“Can’t argue that.”

Father spends the next few days away on a work trip. Mother, consequently, takes up the mantle of potty-trainer; Muckols doesn’t get a mention.

Until Father is back. “Muckols is gonna be mighty happy tonight!” Mother sends Child upstairs.

“I know parenting is a compromise, but this, the whole Muckols obsession thing, I flat-out don’t like.”

Father throws up a ‘whaddya gonna do’ with his hands. “I’m not the biggest fan either. But I was born into it; it’s the way things are.”

“It doesn’t have to be.” Mother says and Father allows his hand to be taken, himself led to the bathroom. “See?” She points to a miniature, plastic toilet next to the real, porcelain device. “The way we look at things can be intimidating for kids. Our devices, too. They’re designed for people that’re already grown. So something kid size works better for kids.”

Father takes his hand away to massage face, really, just an excuse to not look at the shallow bowl. “Please tell me that hasn’t been used.”

Mother widens into a prideful stance. “All week. No tears, tantrums; no issues at all.”

“FUCK!” Father’s foot sends mini-toilet flying. “FUCK!” Mother, stunned, watches waht she’d just called her success stomped into the ground. “FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!” Every exclamation another smash.

“You gotta get out of here.” Father grabs Mother by the shoulders, shoves her out of the bathroom; on the other side of the door she hears the clattering of toilet seat, unbuckling of a belt.

“I swear to God -”

“Go away – I NEED to use the bathroom.”

“Just because your family filled your head with disgusting thoughts doesn’t mean you get to do the same to our kid!” Mother screams; from inside the bathroom, a reverberation, strong, shakes the house. “Did you seriously just fart?!”

Before she can get an answer, the house shakes. And the bathroom door blows off its hinges, taking Mother to the floor. Father, on top of the wood, pulls pants up, then the door, and helps his wife stand. “I’m really sorry about this. I should have explained more but really – there’s no way you’d believe me.”

Child comes down the stairs. “What’s happening – I heard – what’s that smell -”

“I told you to feed him.” Father says guiltily.

“Mom, I thought you said-” Tiny eyes go wide as, inside the bathroom, the pipes where the toilet used to be flow, spew the worst guck imaginable, building on itself – feet into legs, torso, arms, head – Muckols.

Mother moves to get in the way of the demon but Father shakes his head, telling her it’s useless and she knows, right now, that’s the truth.

Child’s screams are suffocated by Muckols’ glee.

After it’s finished, the demon disappears. But Mother knows that with Father around, Muckols will always come back. She takes Child away that night.

Father fails to understand why that’s for the best.

The End

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