Head of the Company

I wrote this a few years ago. I had been messing around with a search engine at the time and discovered that my family had distant relatives who owned a styrofoam factory in Maylasia. I started daydreaming about what it might be like over there. ...


Opening scene: A dusty small dimly lit office, with the noise of injection moulding machinery audible in the background. A balding middle-aged overweight man is sitting behind a shopworn metal desk, smoking the stub of a small cigar and scowling at some paperwork. The door opens, and a lanky black man dressed in nestly pressed khakis enters: "Mister Merrick, the workers are getting restless. There's talk of a strike."

"Just give them an extra ration of manioc roots or whatever the hell it is we feed 'em for lunch, and tell them to get back to work! And tell them if they don't make the full shipment this time I'll shrink their heads, and then they'll be sorry!"

"I'll tell them Mister Merrick, although I'm not so sure they'll like it."

"G'wan, Sunny, Get them pygmies moving! We've got 80 more tons of styro to crank out this month! And find out who's stirring up this trouble and double his quota requirement for the day, too!"

The man in khakis shrugs and walks back out through the door into the factory. Fade out.

Fade in and pan on a twilight jungle scene. Drums are beating ominously in the distance. Merrick is sitting in a high back wicker chair on the veranda of his victorian styled hut. A ceiling fan is turning lazily overhead, and there is a row of citronella tiki candles burning in front of the porch in a vain attempt to ward off the swarms of hungry mosquitoes. Sungai, Merrick's faithful servant, steps out of the hut carrying a tray containing a glass filled with ice, a bottle, and an old fashioned seltzer dispenser. "Your gin, Sir."

"What took you so long, Sunny! Can't you see I'm sweating like a pig!"

"Sorry Mister Merrick, I was listening to the drums. I don't them one bit, sir. I have not heard drums like that since that night seven years ago, when Mister Van Horne disappeared."

"Aw, can it with that superstitious mumbo jumbo, Sunny! You can't scare me with those phony baloney headhunter stories! Van Horne ran off and went native! Betcha he's shacked up down river somewhere with a harem of hootchie cootchie girls, smokin' funny weed and makin' bacon. Now leave me alone! Jesus, can't a civilized man have a drink in peace?"

"Sorry, sir. I'll be back in the morning."

"Aw, get moving! And when you get back to your village, tell those goddamn pygmies to lay off with the drums! Christ, I can't even hear myself think!"

"Very well, good night Mister Merrick."

"Aw, goodnight your own self!"

Sugai walks away down a path into the jungle as the twilight fades to darkness...

Fade out and back in to the veranda, several hours later. Only two candles are left burning, one of them guttering, threatening to go out at any minute. Mister Merrick is sitting in the chair, snoring. An empty glass is on the floor at his feet. Suddenly his eyelids flutter and open. "What! what! Who's there!" He looks around nervously, listening intently. He doesn't hear anything. "Aw, that's it! They finally stopped the goddamn drums." he says to himself.

Merrick slowly gets up out of the chair, heading into the hut. Just as he's reaching the door he hears a rustling noise just off the porch. "Who's out there!" he calls out, trying to sound authorative. He hears a night bird squawk and fly off. "Huh, spooked by a goonie bird." he mutters to himself, turning back towards the door. He doesn't feel a thing as the machete bites into his neck. His head tumbles to the floor as his body falls through the door into the hut.

Sungai lays his bloody machete on the wicker table next to the empty gin bottle. He picks up the head, noticing that the eyes are open and the mouth is twitching, as if trying to say something. "Always had to have the last word, Mister Merrick. What do you think of my, how you say, funny baloney headhunter stories now? Yes, your head will look just fine after I've shrunk it. I'll hang you on the wall of my hut, right next to Mister Van Horne. That way when I am making the bacon with my hootchie girl, I can look at you and laugh. Ha-Ha-Ha!"

Two black men of short stature wearing work clothes step onto the porch, and Sungai nods at them in greeting. They nod back, then bend down to pick up the body. "Eat well, my friends." Sungai says, as they walk off. He picks up the drink tray and carries the empty bottles and glass into the hut. "Must not leave a mess, Mister Merrick would not like it!" he says to himself, chuckling.

Sungai walks back out onto the veranda, stuffs the head into a burlap sack, slings it over his shoulder, and picks up his machete. He looks down, noticing that swarms of insects are already at work devouring the blood on the porch floor, erasing the stains. "Eat well, my friends." He says, as he steps off the porch. Pan to Sunai, walking down a path into the jungle. Roll the credits.