Double Chin

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Watch the Sky Media - Mystery, Crime & Horror

Everyone has a part of them they hate.

Submitted: November 07, 2017

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Submitted: November 07, 2017



Double Chin


Grant Fieldgrove


I guess everybody has a certain part of their body that they hate. Some people don’t like their thighs, others don’t like their stomachs, breasts, ass, whatever. Me, I hate my double chin. I can’t seem to get rid of it and unlike almost every other body part, which can be covered up with clothes, unless you’re able to grow a giant craft-beer-drinking hipster beard, there’s no hiding a double chin.

There’s a knock on my door and I know who it is before the voice on the other side informs me it’s the police. I’ve been waiting for this knock for two days, ever since my ex-wife was shot in the face while sleeping. Next to her, also dead, was the guy who made my childhood a living hell – the guy who used to throw food at me and make oinking noises.

That was when we were adults, too. Childhood was even worse.

I rock myself up with a few grunts and finally get to my feet. All this extra weight is killing my back but now is not the time to stretch, I suppose.

I answer the door and see some dude who is so obviously a cop – cheap suit, loose tie. It’s been a long few days for him too, I’m sure. I can tell by the look on his face that he realizes this was a wasted trip. The murderer of my stupid ex-wife and her stupid lover was caught on security cameras scattered throughout the house and even someone with the poorest of eyesight could see that my body type and the murderer's body type don’t match.

The security footage showed a thin man of my height, dressed all in black and wearing one of those cheap plastic Halloween masks. The ones with the rubber band stapled to the sides.

The footage has been all over the news – screenshots of it are in all the local papers and news websites. The man in black kicks the front door in with one try and steps inside. The camera angle changes and the man in black goes through the house before finding my ex and the asshole. No cameras in the bedroom but the crime scene photos are good enough to draw your own conclusion. Both of them were shot in the face.

Despite it obviously not being me, the detective asks if he can come in. I tell him of course and offer him the sofa. I waddle my fatass back to my recliner, hike up my sweatpants to make sure I don’t flash anything I don’t want seen, and take a seat with another grunt.

He asks me the generic questions, like where was I during the time of the murder. I have no alibi. I tell him I was here watching television, pretty much what I do every night. I tell him that I moved away three years ago when my wife called me a fat worthless bastard and informed me she was banging my high school enemy. She took the house and I hit the road.

I decided to move back six weeks ago and rent this apartment. I found a crappy low paying job and that’s what I do during the day. At night, I watch TV. I shrug to the detective. Surely most people don’t have alibis for Tuesday nights, right? Especially at midnight.

He’s going through the motions while I reach for my bag of chips and start chomping away.  I can feel my stupid double chin jiggle with each bite. I have to fight the urge to try and hide it. For laughs, I hold the bag out for my visitor and offer him some. He shakes his head no.

Since the news hit, I’ve been deciding on how I should act. Should I be upset, distraught, angry? Or should I show no emotion at all. I figured showing my true emotion, happiness, wasn’t the smartest of ideas so I play up the apathy. I tell him all about what happened in the past. No point in trying to hide my motive. If they didn’t already know it they wouldn’t be here.

Even though I don’t match the person on the video, he’ll still have to do some legwork on me. I’m too good of a suspect to just dismiss. But that will all be a dead end too. I don’t have any guns registered to my name and he can check my bank account all he wants. All he’ll find is a laughably low balance. A fat bastard living paycheck to paycheck can’t afford to hire a killer.

He’s taking notes but you can tell he doesn’t care. He asks if I’m going to be in town for a while and I inform him I have plans to move out of this hellhole once and for all, but I promise him I will stick around for as long as he needs me.

This seems to please him and he gets to his feet, which means I have to get to mine. More grunts.

I follow him to the door and he reaches his hand out. I shake it and hope he doesn’t notice my hand. It’s not the hand of a fat man.

The truth is, I’m no longer a fat man. Sure, I used to be, but when I moved away I began hitting a strong home-gym routine - morning and night. I also cut out the fatty foods and sweets...because nothing tastes as sweet as revenge. When all was said and done I had dropped a hundred and eighty pounds. My stomach is flat, my legs are toned. I have the exact body type of the man in black. I’ve been wearing this goddamn fat suit since the moment I put my plan in action.

Thank you, Internet. You can truly buy anything with just a few clicks. You can even find a gun.

My back pain is real. The grunts are real. You try wearing this stupid thing nonstop. I’ve been wearing it everywhere I go and I look exactly the same as when I left. No one noticed any difference. I was, and still am, fat ass Barry Benton.

I have my double chin to thank for that.

A skinny guy in a fat suit will always look like a skinny guy in a fat suit. What sells it is the double chin. No amount of makeup or prosthetics can make a fake double chin look real.

My original goal was to lose weight then move back to town and wow everyone with my transformation. But when I couldn’t seem to lose the double chin, my plans changed and my revenge plot grew more fulfilling. And as the detective releases my hand and walks back to his car, I realize the change of plans was for the better.

I’ll wear the fat suit for as long as I need to stay here. My wife’s murder will be filed away with a million other unsolved murders and then I’ll move far away and go back to eating whatever the hell I want. Nobody here will think about me again. Nobody will miss me. My job sucks and I’ll be easily replaced.

I close the door, lock the deadbolt. I peek out the window as the detective drives away. My first instinct is to strip down naked and relax properly for the first time in weeks. But I can’t. Not yet at least.

But soon.



Thank you for reading! I have a new book called Camp McClane which is available in paperback and e-book on Amazon. It's a love letter to horror movies of the 80's and it is really funny. Please give it a read - I promise you will enjoy it - and if you have Kindle Unlimited, it's totally free. Thanks again! -GF

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