Bogtrotter's Revenge

Bruce’s eyes widened and he tried to scream as the haggard Cookie wobbled toward him with the 18-inch chocolate cake, setting it down and wiping her nose along both her hands and arms.

“Entire confection,” sang Cookie as she handed him a new fork.

Trunchbull’s riding crop snapped in front of his face as he became hypnotized by the cake, Cookie’s sweat and blood oozing from its creamy layers. Trunchbull lowered her face next to his chocolate-smeared one,

“You want cake? You got cake, now EAT IT!!”

Bruce Bogtrotter sat up screaming and hyperventilating, his lean, muscular frame drenched in sweat. He felt four feminine hands caress his back and he began to calm down.

“Sssh, shhh, easy Brucey baby, you were having a bad dream again.”

The two women eased him back to bed and Bruce stared at the ceiling, drifting back to sleep amidst sweet kisses.

By 4am Bruce was up working out at his home gym, knocking out cardio, weights, and topping off with pullups. Obese most of his young life, Bruce drastically trimmed down in university due to rugby and bodybuilding, and there was no way he was going back. Even though Miss Trunchbull was soundly defeated all those years ago, deep down he was still self-conscious, especially when it came to riding crops, decrepit old cooks, and chocolate cake. After his workout he hit the shower and made coffee, always black. He skimmed the sports section of the newspaper as he turned on the TV.

“Meanwhile, the search for missing teacher Matilda Wormwood continues. The thirty-three-year-old was a pillar of her community and recently nominated for L.A. county’s teacher of the year award when she mysteriously disappeared. Wormwood was last spotted at Magnus Beach two days ago and authorities fear she may have been swept out to sea.”

Bruce turned off the TV and got dressed. The two women were still asleep, and dawn was fast approaching. From his luxury apartment he crossed the street to the beach and walked along the shore, taking in the breaking waves and the ocean tickling his bare feet. Observing how treacherous the sea could be, Bruce wondered about Matilda. They only kept in touch occasionally but remained good friends, the kind that can pick up where they left off years later as if no time had passed. From the corner of his eye he noticed a petite figure wearing a hoodie. As he approached a pleasant-looking woman faced him.

“Sorry, I thought you were someone else.”

The woman smiled and walked on. Bruce surveyed the beach one last time then proceeded back to his apartment. When he reached the front door the two women emerged from inside dressed in robes and embraced Bruce, peppering him with kisses.

“Brucey baby, are you alright?!”

“I am now,” said Bruce welcoming the distraction, if only for a little while. As Bruce and the women went inside a pair of eyes belonging to a tall, hulking frame clothed in a black trench coat watched from behind sunglasses.

Before noon Bruce was having brunch at his usual café in downtown. He usually used the time to work and reply to clients, but instead he scoured the internet trying to find any information about Matilda. As he idly chewed on his avocado toast his cell phone rang, it was a private number.

“Hello?”, asked Bruce.

“You want to see Matilda again, be at the old Crunchem Hall in one hour alone,” said an ominous voice before hanging up. Bruce bolted straight to the school. He couldn’t be sure if the call was legit, but he wasn’t willing to bet his friend’s life on it. After suffering through traffic Bruce made it with minutes to spare. Crunchem Hall was a shell of its former self, having closed shortly after Miss Trunchbull’s disappearance. He could hear music and made his way through the eerie halls toward the haunting melody which came from the auditorium. Bruce gulped and pushed the creaking doors open. Inside was a live orchestra playing dramatic music, as if scoring a horror film and he was in it. Matilda was seated alone in front of the stage blind-folded and gagged with hands and legs bound. He rushed to free her quickly but stopped as a large cane corso appeared and blocked his way.

“Don’t worry he doesn’t bite, only maims,” said the voice Bruce recognized from the phone call, revealed to be the hulking man in the black trench coat and sunglasses.

“What do you want?” asked Bruce.

“To see how much she means to you by facing your greatest fear.”

“What?”

“Please, join me onstage.”

Bruce cautiously walked past the cane corso and went onstage where two tables and chairs were set each with a plate and fork.

“Sit,” Bruce sat.

“Mr. Hayler,” the man in black continued. A thin violinist from the orchestra came and sat at the other table while the tempo of the music increased in anticipation.

“Cookie!” Bruce almost turned white when he heard the name. A rusty cart squeaked from behind the curtain pushed by the same cook from his childhood, she had to be over one-hundred-years-old by now. On the cart were two 18-inch chocolate cakes, the same kind he was forced to eat all those years ago. Cookie hoisted the cakes on each table as Bruce looked on in horror.

“It’s simple Mr. Bogtrotter. Finish your cake before Mr. Hayler and you and Miss Wormwood are free. You must consume the entire confection,” said the man in black.

“Entire confection,” sang Cookie as she shuffled off stage with the cart. Bruce looked at the cake then at Matilda, Hayler, and the man in black.

“You want the entire confection?! You got the entire con-damn-fection!!” Casting his fork on the table and fate to the wind Bruce dived head-first into the cake, emerging with a mouth and face-full of chocolate. He glanced over at Hayler who was eating impossibly fast, but Bruce’s competitive nature kicked in. The two men matched bite for bite, Hayler the impeccable cake-eating technician while Bruce was just going nuts. After over half-way through Bruce began to slow down. Hayler was like a machine, leaving the fatigued Bruce in the dust and frosting. There was no one to cheer for Bruce this time but he kept going one bite at a time. Suddenly Hayler began to slow after clearing nearly three fourths of his plate. Bruce continued with renewed vigor nearly matching Hayler until the violinist got his second wind and the two once again went bite for bite. With only a fraction of cake remaining both men came to a standstill. Time seemed to stop as Bruce wearily looked at his opponent, the orchestra, and Matilda. He saw Trunchbull, the crack of the riding crop, and that scared little boy. Bruce shook his head. No more. With a mighty war cry Bruce shoved the last piece of chocolate cake in his mouth, stood up in triumph, and threw the plate like a frisbee just missing the man in black. Hayler collapsed into his cake and Bruce tossed a chunk to distract the cane corso. As he jumped down to Matilda the members of the orchestra rushed toward them. Bruce removed her blindfold just in time as the entire orchestra was thrown back. Tired and stuffed, he sunk to the floor and smiled as Matilda freed herself and went full Dark Phoenix on her captors; bodies, instruments, and cake pieces flying everywhere. Then darkness.

Bruce felt sunlight on his face as he opened his eyes and found himself in bed at home all cleaned up. It was the first time in years he slept without nightmares. Suddenly he smelled something delicious so he got up and followed the aroma to the kitchen. Matilda was lounging at the table reading a Roald Dahl book while food was being prepared.

“It’s interesting how you still wake up either super early or right on time for brunch,” noted Matilda.

“Best meal of the day. And thanks for uh….”

“No, thank YOU. I couldn’t stand another day of that awful music.”

“Wait so, what happened that day you disappeared?”

“I was on my way to your place, the parking sucks here by the way. And as I was walking someone grabbed me. Couldn’t see, couldn’t talk, the person who took me knew who I was and what I could do.”

“Trench coat guy?”

“Trunchbull guy.”

“Wait a minute…Trunchbull?”

“As in Miss Trunchbull’s long lost younger brother. Who knew? Well, I did. That’s why I was trying to warn you.”

“Wow…but you got him at Crunchem Hall right? After you got free?”

“Nope, just his lackeys. He’s slippery for a big guy but I’m sure we haven’t seen the last of him.”

“Guess he’s bent on revenge.”

“Well, at least you got yours first,” Matilda summoned a plate with a pristine slice of chocolate cake from the downtown café. Bruce smiled.

~Fili