The Walrus of Death: A Short Story Read Free

‘I Am the Walrus.’”
    I was starting to enjoy this.
    “Those lyrics,” he continued. “Printed out by the record company, with the band’s permission, is a true and solid fact, proving once and for all, and without a shadow of a doubt, that John Lennon sings ‘goo goo g’joob,’ and not, as you so ignorantly put it, ‘koo-koo-katchoo!’”
    I thought about that for a moment. I used all the skills in my possession to truly look as if I were weighing what he had told me with the respect he felt his argument was due. I scratched at my head, scratched at my chin, and even said “Hmmmm” for a moment or two as I gazed into the air above me. Finally, in the end, I had to give the brute an answer.
    “Liner notes?” I said.
    At this, the Walrus broke. He’d had enough. He bellowed in rage and flung me to the kitchen floor. He reached out and lifted my refrigerator up over his head. Thank God for high ceilings.
    “Enough of this foolishness!” the Walrus roared. “Now you die!”
    The Walrus stood over me, the fridge held high over his head. From my vantage point, I had only a moment to strike, and one perfect target before me. I kicked out with all my strength. And, as my foot connected with that area where the two legs join, I said myself a little prayer that the scientists who had created the creature before me had made sure he was anatomically correct.
    Then, as the Walrus made a little “irk” sound, and his eyes crossed in a comical fashion, I knew that my prayer had been answered. I crab-walked back out of the way as a massive tear formed in one of his eyes. Then he collapsed, the fridge dropping atop his head and knocking him unconscious.
    I rose, brushed myself off and grabbed a roll of duct tape from the junk drawer by the sink. I’d just bought the roll recently and had yet to even pull off the plastic wrap. I pushed the fridge off of him and then used the entire roll of tape on his arms and legs, hoping that it would be enough to keep him restrained if he woke up before the authorities arrived.
    Next, I called the Eudora Police Department and asked that they send a couple of boys around.
    After that, I went to my stereo and flipped through my records. I found my copy of Magical Mystery Tour and took a quick glance through the liner notes and read through the lyrics to ‘I Am the Walrus’.
    “Well crap,” I said aloud, and turned to look at the Walrus. “I guess you were right.”

ACT NATURALLY
    WAITING FOR THE POLICE with a walrus unconscious in your kitchen is an exercise in patience. I could only stare at the thing for so long before my eyes grew heavy.
    I tugged on the tape that bound his arms and legs and felt fairly confident that they would hold, but I wasn’t prepared to take too many chances. So I jogged back into the bedroom at the other end of the hall. On the bed were my clothes for the day along with a pair of Colt Peacemakers, revolvers of a bygone era when the West was wild and untamed.
    The Peacemakers were custom built and given to me by Sam Colt himself and I’d grown quite accustom to them. Sure, nowadays there’s a literal smorgasbord of shooting irons to choose from. But I like to stick with what I know. Besides, I like old things.
    When I’m out in public, I have to keep them concealed—I have a permit to carry, but I just can’t be flashing them about—so I use a shoulder rig that tucks each one in under each arm. This was lying next to the revolvers. I passed it up however, and opened the trunk at the foot of the bed. I pulled out a belt with a pair of holsters and strapped it around my waist over the robe. The guns would hang low on each hip, ready for a quick draw. This was how I preferred to wear them.
    I’m sure I looked every inch the dashing hero in my robe, but I didn’t want to be caught with my pants down when the authorities arrived, so I ignored the clothes for now.
    Once back in the kitchen I realized that the Walrus had begun to smell, or maybe