Flash fiction
First published in Howl #3 by Ahoy Comics | March 2025
Kurt Russell approaches the microphone. He does not smile at the throng of press; instead, he glances back at Goldie Hawn. She nods encouragingly. He sighs, steels himself, and says:
I, Kurt Russell, have been The Thing since 1982.
I am sorry. It was never my intention to reveal this to the world. I honestly believed that, after all these years, I could keep living as a beloved Hollywood star and family man. All it took was that one moment of weakness when I ate a cat behind the 7-Eleven and someone saw me and called TMZ and here I am today.
What you need to understand is that Antarctica is just so, so cold. Even as a dog, I could feel the cold through my fur. The film set was so warm by comparison – the lights, the jackets. The humans were the warmest of all.
Yes, I was bit by the acting bug. Seeing how the crew kept on shooting as the murders continued? Just to make Hollywood magic? When they released The Thing, they didn’t say it was a documentary. It feels good to finally tell the truth.
Once the filming was over, I held tight to my human form and allowed myself to be flown back to California. I’d never felt so at home. Here, everyone is trying to transform into something else. I watched as many old Kurt Russell films as I could, studying his techniques, and I think I’ve done justice to the talent that young man had before I ate him and stole his form.
(Again, I’m sorry. It’s just who I am.)
I auditioned; I landed gigs; I kept on smiling, concentrating on keeping the teeth straight in my mouth. I was so nervous making Silkwood with Meryl Streep that I had to keep going to the bathroom, letting myself devolve in front of the mirror, then putting my new face back together for another take.
Captain Ron? That was me. Death Proof? Me too. I’ve always considered myself a hard worker. I show up on time. Hit my marks. Remember the names of all the crew. I’m grateful for every day and every opportunity. Anything’s better than being back on ice.
To answer your first question: yes, Goldie knows the truth. It took me years to build up the courage to tell her. She once told me she worried that she wasn’t enough for me. Just one shape, forever. I said, “Baby, you can’t improve on perfection.”
Do I feel bad for eating him? It was a long time ago – I don’t even remember how he tasted – but of course I do. I still wear his face so I can look him in the eye. Every morning I get up, drink coffee, and age myself one day. It’s like a reverse facelift, right? Goldie knows better than to give me a birthday cake with candles on it! She’d be the one who got the surprise!
Sorry, I know. This isn’t funny. There’s nothing I can do now except continue living a life that’d make him proud.
Yes, it can be exhausting, sticking to the rigid human form. Sometimes I turn into a hideous spider-thing in the garage. That’s my time. I scuttle around for half an hour and think that I could be anything. Why limit myself to two legs, two arms, a torso without a gaping maw? Over my career I’ve played cops, killers, cowboys – but I could be creating characters that can barely be comprehended by the human mind!
Then I hear Goldie calling my name and I know, deep in my liquid bones, that this is the shape for me. Why? Because it’s the shape that she loves.