Dr. Giselle Fazer & Mr. Farri Badkrill’s Extraordinary Experiment

By J.R. Night

The explosion hurled them both back so fiercely it was several minutes before they came to.

“It’s not my fault.”

“I never said it was, honey.”

Coughing, Dr. Giselle Fazer and Mr. Farri Badkrill sat like string-less puppets on opposite sides of the room. Smoke swirled as papers rained down on them; shattered beakers of unpronounceable liquids leaked in all directions, some of which had burned holes into the walls. An enormous crack ran between the two of them, and the metal walls were lashed with black soot stains.

After he recuperated, it was to one of these that Mr. Badkrill strode and swiped an index finger across. He licked the residue and at once his face contorted with disgust.

“The book said it was supposed to taste lemony,” he said.

“Maybe we should stop trying for a sex,” Dr. Fazer said, tossing How To Create Your Perfect Little Girl onto the metal slab that separated them. “Seems unnatural.”

“I suppose,” he said, probing the spot where his eyebrow once was. “Can you get me Fertility for the Unfavorable,” said Dr. Fazer. “It’s on your side of the crack.”

“That book is grade-A hogwash. Why do you keep insisting on it?”

“Because one of us has to admit we’re having trouble.”

“We’re new. We’ve only been trying for a year, and I don’t think –”

“Actually, never mind,” she said squinting up at the precarious clock that swayed on the wall. “We have Harrilon’s – I think.” Half of the clock fell to the ground. She tilted her head. “Yup, it’s nine. We got to go wash this goop off.”

Before the clock struck ten, they strolled hand-in-hand though Harrilon’s front path; few could tell that just the previous hour they had been covered in foul-smelling fluids and had half their hair blasted off. Two scorching showers later and a couple of drops of “Mr. Merry’s Instant Regrowth Serum” and they were back to their original selves.

Dr. Fazer lifted her shimmering emerald dress so as to climb the steps, and told herself to prepare for the slaughter. The endless questions of “Have you guys tried this? And done this? What about this formula? And this book? My brother had this work –” They had acquired every text possible and put to use almost all of them, except the ones that prescribed sacrifices – Barson was one strange fellow and they don’t speak to him anymore. They never ask Farri, though. No, they ask him about his job.

Terri Harrilon opened the door, lit up, and ushered them in. The night went on as expected, except she miscalculated the effect of seeing the Harrilon’s newborn, and thus she drank, a lot.

“You really aren’t worried?” she asked, on their drive home.


By the time she got home, she collapsed on the couch and fell asleep.

Mr. Badkrill lingered in the kitchen, brewing coffee; they had decided they would try all through the night. If he let her sleep, she would be livid that they didn’t try. In the piercing silence, the thoughts he tried to fade away, kept running back at him. Why hadn’t they had their baby yet? Is it him? No, he wouldn’t be able to bear it. His heart sunk, threatening him with tears, which he quickly smothered. He had lied about his worry with the hopes that his stoic position would work as her anchor. However, he had failed to understand that he had not only emotionally isolated her but also himself.

At midnight, he poured the coffee and mixed one-fourths cup of almond milk into her cup just like she likes it. He seized the tray and carried it into the living room to find an empty couch.

His brows furrowed, he bent over and placed the tray on the coffee table. “Giselle?”

He shook his head when he heard thudding upstairs. The last time they both had drunkenly tried, they stared a fire in the room. And like clockwork, the smell of smoke hit him.

“Eureka! Farri I’ve got it! I think I’ve –”

Mr. Badkrill started; he flew up the stairs and his hand had just touched the cool metal when the impact blew him right into the bathroom. He slid across the floor and smacked his head on the sink.
In this brief moment, he had allowed his spirits to rise, had damaged the walls he had built in himself. A pain was starting up somewhere long since forsaken inside him, like when he was a kid, a crescendo until someone had silenced him with a hug. The second he heard the choked sobs coming from the lab, his heart broke, and he burst into tears.

Dr. Giselle Fazer heard his sounds and stumbled into the bathroom to find him. Sensing her presence, his face lifted from his hands, their eyes locked. Stunned, never having seen him cry, she simply stared at him. He waited a moment before mumbling, “I’m still not worried.”

They smiled, and then laughed through their tears. She fell to her knees, embraced him, and together, they cried.


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