The compost monster lives at the end of my garden. He has a small house that my daddy built for him out of wood. There is no roof, and it is full of soil and smells really nasty like my bum. But he is happy in his home.

The compost monster is fed every day by my daddy. He takes him scraps that we don’t eat and sometimes gives him food out of the fridge that has gone rotten and pongs. My daddy tells me that the compost monster loves leaves and grass, too. He mixes all the food and leaves and grass with a big fork that the compost monster says he doesn’t like. He says that the prodding hurts him but he loves my daddy for building him his house and giving him his food, so he doesn’t get cross with him.

What does make the compost monster cross is that my daddy doesn’t believe he his real. According to my daddy if we feed the compost monster lots he will do a big massive monster poo that will make daddy’s flowers and vegetables grow up big and strong.

But when I tell my daddy how I talk to the compost monster he says that I’m silly and there’s no such thing. When I sneak out at night and visit my monster in his home he tells me that I should get my daddy to believe in him. I always tell him how my daddy knows everything about everything and so if he says so, he can’t be real. The compost monster says he can make my daddy believe. He says that he needs my help. And I really want my daddy to meet him.

“Daddy daddy daddy,” I screamed, “come and meet the compost monster.” He came out from the house with a smile and a bag of monster food and walked over to us. I remember him smiling at me and roughing up my hair. He emptied the bag into the stinky pile. Then a big brown arm shot out and grabbed him by the neck. He screamed, it was weird hearing my daddy in pain. I was scared, but only for a tiny second. I knew that he would be safe here. There were no more screams after he was dragged under the soil.

So now I live with the compost monster in his house. My daddy is here but he doesn’t move much. The compost monster spends most of his day eating bits of my daddy. He says it’s because there’s no food any more. I am very hungry. My fingers and toes are dissolving away and they hurt a bit. But he tells me that it’s OK.

I don’t really want to eat my daddy like the compost monster does, but I will have to if I am to help my daddy’s plants grow big and strong.

Photo credit: nancybeetoo via Visualhunt.com / CC BY

Categories: flash fiction

Tags: compost, death, feeding, flash fiction, gardening, gore, horror flash fiction, horror writer, monster, plants, rotten, scary, smelly, vegetables, writing