Fiction: The Monsters Have a Frank and Uncomfortable Talk About Body Shaming

By Travis Flatt

 

When the Invisible Man comes home to the castle that night, he shuffles off his raincoat and discovers Frankenstein and the Merman sitting on the couch looking grave. “Shit—did somebody die?”

“Grab a seat,” says Frankenstein, who’s drinking a Bud Lite instead of his usual microbrew. When the Invisible Man hesitantly sits in the pink cushioned Bergere, they sit in the dim fireplace light, listening to rain patter and the soft slurps of canned beer. 

“What’s up?” The Invisible Man says, tired from a night of terror and growing impatient. 

The Merman wrings his massive, webbed hands, keeps his hard-boiled egg eyes down toward his lap. 

Frankenstein glances at the stairs. “Wolfman said you’ve been making jokes.” 

“Jokes,” echoes the Merman, grunting. 

The Invisible Man starts to stand. “I’m going to change. I got my bandages all wet and sticky.”

Frankenstein holds a hand out. “Wait, wait. About him looking fat.”

The Invisible Man thuds back into his chair. “Why isn’t he down here then?”

“He’s embarrassed,” says Frankenstein.

The Invisible Man leans across the coffee table and plucks a Bud Light from the six pack that sits sweating there. “I said he should switch to ‘diet virgins.’ Or something like that. Come on. This is stupid. Get him down here. I’ll apologize.”

“Embarrassed,” the Merman croaks.

This time the Invisible Man won’t be stopped. He stands. “I mean, none of us look twenty-five anymore. I’m going upstairs.”

A huge flash of lightning and a bat swoops in from a window, flutters around the room, and bursts into Dracula, who stands by the fireplace, drying his cape. He smirks at the Invisible Man. “They’re giving you the talk, too?” 

Frankenstein sets his empty can on the table. “This is serious. Did you know he hasn’t come out of his room in six days—-”

“It’s not the full moon,” says the Invisible Man.

Creaky steps on the staircase. The Wolfman peers down, his eyes reflecting yellow in the dark. “It’s cool. He was kidding,” says the Wolfman. “No worries.”

The Invisible Man points at the Wolfman. “See?”

“He’s just saying that because he’s embarrassed,” says Frankenstein. 

“Embarrassed,” croaks the Merman.

“We heard you throwing up,” says Frankenstein. He swivels on the couch, pushing against the armrest and cracking the wood with a small snap. 

Dracula has moved to stand beside the Invisible Man’s pink Bergere. He whispers, “I don’t get all this 21st century ‘shaming’ bullshit. They’re on the internet too much.”

The Wolfman is edging back upstairs. 

“Tell him what you told me,” calls Frankenstein.

The Wolfman returns and sighs. “It’s like: how am I supposed to scare anyone if I look—I don’t look scary anymore, man.”

The Invisible Man grabs another beer and walks to offer it to the Wolfman. “Hey, no—you look really scary, dude. I was kidding around.”

From back at the chair, which Dracula has stolen, Dracula says to the Invisible Man, “You’re looking a little lumpy there, too, my friend.” He grins, showing two long, slender fangs. 

“Goddamn it, D., why are you always starting shit,” says Frankenstein.

“Shit,” ribbits the Merman. 

Dracula shrugs, grinning wider. “Jokes, big man. Only jokes.” 

Over at the stairs, the Invisible Man puts a hand on the Wolfman’s hairy, muscular shoulder. “Did you really make yourself puke?”

“I just ate some bad farmer, bro. Forget it.” 

Dracula bursts out laughing. “We’ve all been there. Yes?” 

Frankenstein stands up. Another flash of lighting. “Okay, new house rule. No one talks about each other’s appearance. This is a safe space.” 

“Safe space,” croaks the Merman. 

Dracula has tears running between his long, sharp nose. “What in world is ‘safe space’?”

The Invisible Man crumples his can and tosses it at Dracula. “You know what, D.? I haven’t noticed you bringing any chicks back to the castle lately. Is someone having a little trouble with the ol’ blood flow?” He grabs his crotch.

Dracula’s laugh vanishes. His face turns stoney. “You will watch it, you Peeping Tom looking sonuvabitch.”

Now it’s the Invisible Man laughing. “Don’t think we haven’t noticed all that moisturizer. Your skin starting to show a few centuries?” He traces his index fingers down the sides of where his mouth should be, indicating wrinkles. 

Dracula leaps up. “My skin’s pure as moonlight, bastard—”

“And that’s your natural hair color, too, right?”

Soon they’re wrestling around on the hardwood, Frankenstein and the Wolfman pulling them apart, until they’ve finally got them both pinned down in chairs on opposite sides of the room, everyone panting. 

“Jesus Christ,” says Frankenstein, “I’ll put your rooms up on Craigslist if there’s any more of that horseshit. It’s a safe space, you understand? 

“Fine, whatever,” Dracula and the Invisible Man growl, refusing to look at each other.

“No, listen,” says Frankenstein. I want both of you to say something nice to each other. Something about how the other one looks.

“Jesus Christ,” says Dracula. 

“Ah, c’mon,” says the Invisible Man. 

“I’m serious. You're both decades behind on rent.”

Dracula and the Invisible Man stare at each other from their opposite chairs. 

“The bat thing’s kind of cool,” says the Invisible Man.

“No, about how he looks.”

The Invisible Man lowers his head and scratches his forehead. “Uh—you dress pretty good. The cape’s alright.”

Frankenstein shakes his head. “Not his clothes. Him.”

“You’ve got a nice bone structure. Like, your jaw.”

Frankenstein smiles. “Was that so hard?”

Dracula blows the Invisible Man a kiss. 

“D., I’m serious. I’ll go list your room tonight. Tell him something.”

Dracula squirms in his seat. “The man is fucking invisible.”

Frankenstein crosses his arms and glares. 

Dracula, sighs. “Fine. I can see you, you know.” 

Everyone starts a little. “Yes. I always could. I approve of this new mustache. Compliments the fullness of your lips.”  

Frankenstein claps his hands and rubs them together. “Okay, awesome. You guys want to get high and watch Show Girls?”

 

 

 

 

 

Travis Flatt (he/him) is a teacher and actor living in Cookeville, Tennessee. His stories appear or are forthcoming in HAD, Bending Genres, JMWW, A Thin Slice of Anxiety, and many other places. He enjoys theater and dogs.