The Diet-Soda Beast

By Pennell Paugh

This story tells how two shortcomings of my friend, Jim, collided to create an unlikely solution to a major social problem.

First, like a tone-deaf person singing a song, Jim had a sense of smell that managed to be out-of-sniff with the rest of humanity. Let me give you an example. When his second wife left him, his house fell victim to his incense preference. Generally, I flew in on Friday and stayed at Jim’s. On Saturday my sister, Marg, would pick me up and I’d stay with her for the rest of the weekend. Marg lived with and took care of our demented mother and, once a month, I would give her a couple of days off, then fly home on the red-eye on Sunday. By staying with Jim on Fridays, I got to have a little fun and Marg didn’t have to chauffeur me from the airport during Friday-night traffic hour.

One Saturday at 2 AM, while sleeping in Jim’s guest room, I woke up with an abrupt start. An offending scent had wrenched me awake. The room enveloped me in something worse than a burrow of upset skunks. I covered my head with covers but the aroma stuck to my nose. Unable to sleep, I dragged myself out of bed, closed the bedroom door and opened the window wide. Even so, the odor continued to blanket the room. In desperation, I used an aerosol can of bathroom odor-eater. The room still reeked but in a new way.

When I visited the next month, I woke in the night and went through the same painful experience. Sniffing everything, like my Retriever, I identified the source. The aroma grew into a stinky hot-spot nearest to the nub left from a stick of Jim’s favorite incense. When released into the air, the scent soon matured into a fetid chemical fragrance. Worse still, it sank deep into anything made of fabric, transforming all Jim and I wore into something akin to a whiff of an advanced case of bad breath. 

I briefly borrowed Jim’s car and went to a smoke shop. Before Marg arrived, I said, “I found you a new flavor of indoor air pollution. If you want something that transports you to heaven,” I handed him a box of frankincense, “try this.”

Shaking his big blond head, Jim said, “I don’t get your olfactory issues, Gary. The stuff I use is perfect. It makes me feel like I’m in an ashram.” 

How do you argue with a man’s nose? What would you do?

 I let it go and hoped his fiancé could deal with his strange associations to odors. Meanwhile, to protect myself when I came to town, I rented a car and stayed at Marg’s the entire weekend. Jim grimaced but, nevertheless, came to visit me on Saturday mornings.

***

It’s time to discuss Jim’s second flaw—his addiction. Raised in a first-generation family from the back hills of West Virginia, the luxuries of middle-class-living dazzled Donny, Jim’s father. When Donny became manager of a grocery chain’s meat department, he brought Coca-Cola home to his family. Regarding it as a status symbol, Donny would offer it to guests with pride. Naturally, Donny’s children became addicted to the stuff. 

Sad to say, Jim passed his affection for soda onto his two boys. As a result, all three tended to be chubby. To appeal to his offspring, Jim bought a car with deep, wide seats, that could move from 0 to 50 in seconds, and provided huge drink holders. 

***

Let me digress for a paragraph. Jim, as a high school English teacher, taught critical thinking. Thus, he tended to focus on major social problems. U.S. recycling programs particularly bothered him. He discovered most of the plastics his family put in blue bins, really ended up in local landfills. More important, the few plastic items that got reprocessed, often poisoned the atmosphere with greenhouse gasses in the recycling process. The public unknowingly went along with the fraud and didn’t insist plastics be decreased or demand that the production of substitutes be encouraged. To do his bit, Jim always bought soda in aluminum cans.

***

Which brings us back to my friend’s shortcomings. 

To lose weight, Jim periodically fought his addiction. He’d experiment till he found a tolerable diet soda. He would then drink as much soda as he wanted while he counted his carbs. Over the years, I observed that Jim would describe the clothes he planned to wear when he reestablished his boyish figure just before he’d deny he had an addiction. These two things typically foreshadowed his impending relapse.

One year, while believing he’d overcome his addiction, Jim bought a huge quantity of diet soda he found on sale. Soon, during late summer, he predictably returned to his favorite beverage; immediately becoming heavier than the last time he’d dieted. 

***

I’d like to take a minor side road here. Jim’s two sons, who never dieted, did gain weight but not anywhere as fast as their father who dieted once or twice a year. 

***

Back to the story. No longer dieting, Jim forgot he’d stored a large quantity of the one-calorie drink in the back of his favorite car. When winter turned harsh, a dozen boxes of canned soda blew up. 

At first, Jim’s second wife commented on the vehicle’s refreshing mint odor. In a month, the car’s interior gave off a smell of undisguised diet soda chemicals mixed with wet cardboard gone fungal. 

Jim thought his car smelled fine, so he never scrubbed the trunk. Knowing him, he probably forgot all about the matter. However, while they lived together, his second wife soon refused to take rides with him. Eventually, even his two sniffer-challenged sons complained. 

Each month, Jim took his kids on a fifty-mile trip to his parent’s place. While not being able to take his favorite car on long trips may have bugged Jim, it didn’t seem to motivate him to clean the source of his car’s unpleasant odor. At least, that’s what I thought.

One weekend, no one else could take me to the airport and Jim offered. I accepted but feeling grumpy, I asked, “Why don’t you clean your trunk?” 

“I have tried.” The sorrow in his eyes said he spoke the truth. “It’s more like a living being back there than something I can eliminate by scrubbing.”

“What? You created a diet-soda monster? Why aren’t you taking care of it?” 

Jim hung his head down. “It’s not like a pet. How can I take care of something so hideous and frightening its odor is part of its defense?”

His words sobered me. “Show me.”

On the walk to his trunk, his description of the creature echoed in my head. As though I faced a charging bull, my heartbeat raced. I prayed for a way to survive the night’s drive to Dulles Airport.

At the trunk, Jim said, “Stand back.” He popped the lid. “Even I think it reeks.” 

A horrific odor, like the worst outhouse ever, hit me hard. In constant motion, the creature changed colors of red, blue and orange as it oozed from one side to the other of its confined space. I thought I heard a scream for help, but when I commenced retching and gagging, my attention went elsewhere. Holding my nose, I yelled, “Enough. Close it.”

Through brisk weather, we rode to the airport with all the windows rolled down.

***

Jim stayed in the house in which he’d raised his kids. While they were separated, his second wife temporarily rented an apartment. Nadia, a gentle, shy woman, caught Jim’s eye. For reasons she never shared, Nadia never visited Jim’s place. A whiff of his clothes must have warned her to avoid his living quarters. Fortunately, the five kids from her previous marriage gave Jim plenty of feedback about all things smelling foul. 

The next winter featured record-breaking cold temperatures. Jim bought a jumbo bottle of liquid detergent and put it in a corner of the trunk. That night, it dropped below zero for several days. At some point, the soap’s plastic container must have burst its seams. 

Hopeful the soap mixed with the soda may have improved the car’s attractiveness, Jim asked his step-kids what they thought. Ranging between fourteen and twenty-two, four of them desperately needed to share a car. However, although they lived way out in Loudoun County, miles from any sort of public transportation, all held their noses at any mention of using Jim’s favorite auto. One kid actually said he’d rather walk.

The youngest and Jim’s favorite step-kid, Benji, claimed to have tried to clean the trunk. He turned green describing the event. “I put my hands into that sticky funky gunk. When the creature slid one direction then the other, I jumped so high, I hit my head on the trunk lid.”

I figured the creature must have been living off soda cans and the heavy plastic container, as well as the rubber and metal of the spare tire. Lucky for Benji, the Beast hadn’t nibbled on his fingers.

Now recognized as a family member, what would Jim do with the creature? Give it up for adoption? Unfortunately, my attention got diverted. My Mom fell while experiencing a heart attack and her recovery remained uncertain for some time. 

Once wife number two bought the house from Jim, he moved into Nadia’s. Once he’d brought in half of his wardrobe, Nadia banned him, and everyone else, from using any “artificial scents.” When he returned with the rest of his clothes, Nadia organized them into piles on the laundry room floor. It took a week before she managed to wash, fold, or hang it all. She whispered to me, “I didn’t want Jim to take it personally, so I banned everyone in the house from doing laundry.”

I shook my head. “Jim associates his brand of incense with a feeling of deep peace.”

“Oh no.” Nadia grimaced. “I hope this doesn’t become an issue between us.”

“I don’t think so. He’s very tame and obliging as a husband.”

“This is good to hear.” Nadia ran to the laundry room to move another load of clothes. 

Cleaning clothes for seven people must have kept her busy. Knowing kids, I felt sure no one would complain about not being allowed to do their own laundry. Jim wouldn’t.

In our college days when Jim and I shared a room in a frat house, I learned, first hand, Jim loathed household chores. Admittedly, not much better, I found out the hard way, it’s best to clean the toilet once a week. Jim’s nose exempted him from this lesson.

Frankly, I never learned how to do laundry. In my 20s and 30s, I wrecked a lot of clothes and several washers. After we married, my wife volunteered to do the chore. She said she wanted to save money by protecting our family from my incompetence.

***

Three months after I first met the Beast, Jim called to find out when to meet me at the airport. He chatted for a while, confessing he had wanted to warm the hearts of his step-kids. Between deep sighs, he said he’d traded his favorite car for a less peppy newer vehicle. 

Relieved I wouldn’t be riding in a stinky car, I canceled my rental car. The next day, I experienced the trip from the airport to be such a pleasure, I hugged Nadia when we arrived at their house and congratulated her on the new car deal.

“The salesman had to be a greenhorn,” she said. “He had no inkling what we gave to him as a trade-in. This is the only time I’ve ever felt sorry for a used-car salesman.” She squirmed in her seat. “Actually, I’m consumed with guilt.”

“I understand.” I shook my head, “That trunk has more than odor issues.” I wondered if she had told Nadia about the Beast.

“Yes, it does. Maybe they could force it out with a power washer.” Nadia redid her French twist, using fingers as a comb.

“Whatever they might use,” I said in all seriousness, “are we sure the diet-soda monster will give up without a fight?” 

The phone rang. Jim walked in a slump and disappeared into the foyer. In a moment, he re-entered the room. “Harry Rosenburg, the used car dealer, says that whatever I had in the back of my old car is crying for its daddy.” My friend’s face glowed, perhaps from happiness or maybe even fatherly pride.

“The Beast can talk?” I asked as I locked eyes with Nadia. She and I went silent.

The situation seemed unreal. I leaned forward. “Maybe we could lure the thing out of the trunk with the promise of a treat. You know, an old bike or a collection of stinky shoes.”

“Great idea.” Nadia jumped up and headed for the stairs. “I’d be happy to sacrifice rank shoes from the boys’ closets.”

I went to the bathroom. While we were out of sight, Jim left. I suspected he felt eager to reclaim his old car without opposition from us.

From the dealership, Jim called. Nadia had gone to fetch her shoes and purse, so I picked up. “I generously offered to take the car back at no charge and Mr. Rosenburg shook my hand, saying, ‘It’s a deal.’”

Nadia groaned when I told her.

We rode to the dealer’s where I picked up the family’s new car. Nadia opened the Beast’s living area and threw in the promised shoes, then slammed the trunk shut. 

A moaning sound, like someone in a state of ecstasy, came from the back as Jim exited the lot. As the car turned left, the trunk lid popped open. Shoestrings exploded out onto the street before the lid closed again. 

Nadia walked over to me, her face a light shade of green.

“Something wrong?” I asked.

“The Beast is lying in there in its own waste. That’s why the car is getting more rank.”

Guilt spiked through my heart. “The poor thing. We’ve gotta make things right.” 

Jim parked on the street. Nadia stopped next to him and made circular motions. 

Electronically, he lowered the window.

“Park your car in the garage,” she said. “I’ll take your spot.”

Wide-eyed with mouth open, Jim agreed with a smile on his face.

Inside, the three of us planned what to do. With a clothespin on my nose, I helped Jim carry the Beast upstairs. I’d never looked at it up-close. The rectangular creature’s matted hair, appeared as thick as a bear’s. I counted six eyes—at least that’s what I thought those little insectoid objects at one end looked like—two in front, two in back, and one on each side. Two arms and hands sat on each end of one side. Agile at flipping over, the creature’s appendages could serve as feet as well. On the front, the side with arms, a smiling mouth showed red, blue and orange spiked teeth. Maybe the weird things on either side serving as eyes, actually acted as ears.

Nadia poured shallow warm water into the tub then we lowered the Beast onto its feet. Upon landing, in a polite sort of way, the creature lifted one end of its body and screeched.

Nadia added more warm water. That did the trick.

Jim and I rushed to the garage and went through his tools—he didn’t tend to put tools away, so before we started a project, we first did a tool inventory. I then drove the new car to the hardware store. When I returned, Jim managed to have borrowed professional equipment to raise the car’s back end. “My next-door neighbor fixes cars,” he said.

“Nice,” I said.

Jim measured, then cut a hole in the bottom of the trunk where the tire used to fit.  

I scanned the garage. 

“The Beast must have eaten the tire and tire iron. Very adaptable, huh?” Jim grinned.

“You should get a spare, jack, and tire iron. Maybe keep them in the back seat.”

A doubtful frown came over Jim’s face. 

I went quiet. I felt sure Jim experienced guilt for neglecting his new family member. Then again, maybe he planned to use the Beast when he got a flat. The image of the rectangular, colorful creature using its sturdy tire-iron-eating teeth to hold on as it acted as a tire, filled me with an internal tickle. I held it in best I could and broke into laughter as I strolled over to the new car with a shopping list.

Calling my cell before I reached the store, Jim explained without introduction, “I heard you laughing. I’m afraid the Beast will invade the car’s interior if I put a spare tire in the back seat.”

“Yah know, that’s a realistic concern. Best to get one of those cans of stuff that wrecks the tire but lets you drive to the next service station. Afterward, you can buy a new tire.”

He asked me to pick up a can.

In two hours, we drilled a hole in the tire well, then drained and scraped out the sticky waste into an oil catcher. We washed out the trunk then wiped it down with towels. I coated the whole area with a product claiming to prevent metal from rusting. Finally, Jim filled the hole with the bathtub plug I’d purchased. We finished up by putting a thick piece of plastic over the wheel area, hoping the Beast wouldn’t eat it. We left a drain hole over the wheel well. 

I ran up to the bathroom and announced we’d made a satisfactory habitat. 

While floating, the Beast hummed an old rock tune. Nadia kept the water warm and scrubbed the creature with a long-armed brush. 

She and I dried and fluffed the creature’s colorful thick hair. From an old sheet, Nadia made a diaper, then we helped the Beast downstairs. The creature’s arms stretched like bungee straps, so its feet bounced off each stair. Tucked into the trunk, we all smiled down at the newly cleaned creature. Jim wondered aloud how he’d managed to make such a cute life form. 

Sounding like Jim’s younger son, it said, “Thanks, Dad.”  

Jim and I got teary-eyed. He hugged the Beast and it used its stretchy arms to hug him back.

“We’ll do better by you, Trunkin. I promise.” Jim wiped his eyes.

***

The next time he called, my friend sounded elated. “Turns out Trunkin is a plastic junky.” With all the plastic wrapping on new products, Jim possessed more than enough food to keep his trunk’s occupant happy. “Oh, and it no longer wears a diaper. It climbs out and goes potty in the oil catcher.”

“That’s great,” I said. “I still feel bad we let it be miserable for so long.”

Nevertheless, Nadia required Jim to park Beast car on the street. Soon, summer break arrived and Jim would rise in the middle of the night to feed Trunkin. As he dug deep into the recycling bin and pulled out choice goodies, Benji entered the room. The two night-owls climbed into the new car. Jim needed to attend to a pressing chore. Besides, Benji wanted a snack. They headed to the nearest convenience store. The step-son ran inside, ordered a chili dog, and brought out four six-packs of Coca Cola. 

While they rode toward their house, Beast car passed in the opposite direction. The driver’s seat appeared empty. 

Benji snorted chili beans onto the windshield and dash. “Oh my God. Did you see that?” He coughed and complained how the chili sauce burned his nostrils.

Jim offered Benji a sip of cola to recover, then did a U. Beast car turned left into Harry Rosenburg’s dealership. They found the auto parked out back where new arrivals received repairs and detailing.  

The Beast’s trunk popped open. About twenty rectangular blue, red, and orange baby beasts, half the size of their parent, floated up like helium-filled balloons. Trunks opened in the newer models in the lot. The colorful blobs bobbed in the air and made themselves at home; one per car. 

So, the Beast and her offspring possessed telekinetic abilities and could even drive their cars?

Benji ran across the parking lot to inspect one of the babies. He claimed the adorable newborn smelled minty with a detergent after-smell. He and Jim fed plastic recycling to each infant before the trunks slammed shut.  

Beast car followed behind Jim and parked in her usual spot on the street. 

The next day, Jim called to tell me about his night’s activities. 

I laughed till I couldn’t breathe. I finally gulped in some air. “Buddy, who would have thought that from a stinky mess, you’d create a great solution to a huge environmental issue? Harry can advertise he sells cars that also recycle plastics. And better than recycling programs, it takes all types of plastics and processes them carbon-free.” 

I considered adding the car could chauffeur passengers around, but decided against it. 

“Oooh.” Jim cleared his voice “I hadn’t seen it that way.”

“You should charge Harry for Trunkin’s future kids. Keep your formula a secret and you’ll be a millionaire in no time.” 

He laughed, but then turned serious. “You know, I make a bet those shoes caused the Beast to make babies.” He yelled for Nadia to go find more gross tennis shoes.

After a while, huffing, I heard her say, “I found three pairs.” 

Jim told her my suggestion.

“Great idea. You know, honey, we should park the Beast in our garage.” She sounded sincere. “We can keep a close eye on her more easily. You know, invite her in for a movie and things like that.”

A week after Trunkin ate the shoes, she gave birth to another batch of offspring.

***

On the way from the airport, the next time I visited, Jim told me he filled his trunk with warm water twice a week. Trunkin gurgled and swirled as she paddled all around. The area gave her more space to swim than their bathtub. “Not knowing what else to do with it, I pour Trunkin’s toilet onto my vegetable garden. Hope it doesn’t kill my tomatoes.” 

Jim loved his tomatoes.

***

Jim tells me he keeps his four step-sons in the latest sneaker fashions. This ensures the shoes are well used and, as a result, get stinky overnight. Also, you won’t believe this, his garden has been producing super-sized veggies. So far, Jim’s yellow squash weighs ten pounds. If the garden keeps it up, he plans to enter the local farmer’s market produce contest. 

Even more incredible—from his super-veggies, Jim’s noticed two interesting side-effects. He’s developed an acutely sensitive socially-appropriate nose, so he no longer likes his old incense. He also no longer craves any sort of soft drink. Instead, he prefers water.

As for his kids, they hate vegetables, so they continue to gain weight where Jim’s become attractively thin.

When I called yesterday, Nadia picked up. She said Jim whistles a lot these days. He earned his first million last week. 

I laughed. I considered Jim to be the least likely man to become a millionaire. 

Nadia added, “Trunkin is talking to Loudoun County’s dump. For a small charge, she and her kids will meet monthly to consume tough-to-dispose items. She wants the County to take anything made of plastic, including furniture, appliances, computers, car parts and so on. And, get this,” Nadia chuckled, “she’s also making plans to market Beast waste. She’s decided to sell it for $10 a bottle.”

“How’d Jim react to this idea?”

“He’s proud of her poop. He said, ‘$10’s a bargain.’”

PENNELL PAUGH has published nonfiction extensively in the fields of mental health, corrections, speech, and hearing. For fiction, she has been published in the Guilded Pen Anthology: Thrift-Store Luck, (2021), Sending Messages to the Past (2022),and A Comparison of My Experience vs Kubler-Ross’s Model of Grief (2023). She also has written three novels: two middle-grade fantasy and one a young YA fantasy novel.