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When most people are asked, “who’s your favorite actor?”, someone recognizable and beloved is almost always said. I’ve heard people say old favorites like Tom Hanks, up and comers like Daniel Kaluuya, and I’ve even heard Pauly Shore as an answer. Unfortunately for me, the man I work for is never mentioned. He’s only spoken about when he’s in the news for his umpteenth drunken brawl or when he ruins a movie with his incompetence.

Ladies and gentlemen, Eric Hastings III, the worst man in Hollywood.

God, how I hate him.

So, a bit of background knowledge about me: My name is Valerie Lewis. Late-twenties, virgin, majored in business. Why does all of this matter? Why do I matter? Because I’m the personal handler for the feral beast that is Mr. Hastings. I got this gig as a dying wish from the late great Eric Hastings Sr., an old family friend and one of the biggest directors of the 40s and 50s. Since he had no family outside of his shithead grandson, I was the only person who was with him when he died. He was so moved by my kindness that he wanted me to show Eric III that kindness, and hopefully make him a better man because of it. He assigned me to be Eric’s caretaker when he turned 35. If I managed to keep him from an early grave, I would receive his entire fortune. At the time, it sounded easy.

Fast forward to now, and I’m now witnessing the carnage Eric left in his trailer. The room looks like a bear ran through here. Bottles of absinthe strewn about the cupboards, the once pristine carpet was now soaked in piss, and the underwear of what I can assume to be extras with low self-esteem hanged from the ceiling fan. I rolled my eyes and began to clean, making sure it was fresh for his next mental collapse.

I was halfway through the deep clean when he called.

“Heeeeeey, if it isn’t the world’s best assistant!” Eric shouted on the other line. For all his faults, he had a very beautiful voice. It almost made me forget I had spent the last two hours scrubbing his pee out of his carpet.

“Hello Eric.”

“Whoa, your voice sounds raspy! Well, y’know, raspier than usual. Did one of my costars fuck your brains out or something?”

“Ha ha, Eric.”

“Seriously, you need a boy toy you can wrap around your finger. Or a girl toy, if that’s what you’re into.”

“Eric, we have this conversation every week. I don’t want to date any of your floozies and junky friends.”

“But you’d see me more often!”

I sighed. “What did you need, Eric? I’m kind of busy.”

He chuckled. “What, do you not like the present I left you?”

God damnit, did he do this on purpose?

“Eric!!!” I shouted into my phone. This is getting annoying.

“Sorry, sorry. Hey, I was wondering if you could find some food for me tonight. Y’know it’s my time.”

I froze for a second. “Eric, I thought that wasn’t until next week.”

Eric’s chuckle turned into a full blown laugh. “You’re always so punctual, yet you always seem to forget this!”

“It’s not that I’m forgetful, I just hate this.”

Eric stopped laughing. “C’mon, Valerie. Do it for my gramps.”

Jesus, Eric, why’d you have to pull that card?


“Yay! You’re the best, sweetcheeks!” I could hear Eric smile through the phone. It made me more angry.


“Love you, Valerie, you’re a peach. Also, when I’m done tonight, can you…”

“Yes. Fine. Whatever. I can do that.”

“Thank youuuuuuu! Don’t forget, we wrap today, so bring it to my house, not the trailer!”

“...So I cleaned this for nothing.”


He hung up.

So I’m sure you’ve probably guessed what he needs by now.

Every two weeks, I lure an innocent person to Eric’s trailer, house, wherever he is at that time, and I step out. I come back in to get rid of the skeleton he leaves behind, and I let him look at my body, as he’s worked up a sexual appetite. He used to ask me to bring him whores as well, but this was my compromise. No way in hell am I letting him do whatever he planned to them. The food is enough emotional weight for me.

God, I’m so fucked up. I could have been a stockbroker.

I get up from the sanitized rug and make my way out of the cleaned trailer.

Time to hit the town.

Hollywood is a big place, full of gullible people, awful people, and idiots. These are who I try to seek out. People who wouldn’t be missed. People who wouldn’t even be worthy of an obituary in the newspaper.

People like me.

I tense up at the thought of my own funeral. Who would even show up? Eric?

I push the thought out of my head and look at the setting sun. It’s nice. Makes me feel good inside.

A couple minutes later, I arrive at my destination. The Hollywood Walk of Fame.

I waltz down the list of stars and arrive at a fairly new one: Eric Hastings Jr., another late star whose life was unfortunately cut short on his 35th birthday. Apparently, his handler didn’t believe what Eric Sr. said, and refused to feed him, resulting in Junior dying an incredibly painful death. Nobody knows what happened when he died, but everyone knows the scene: the room was covered in blood, with bits and pieces of Junior splattered about the room. The only living person was his handler, who was arrested for murder.

His loss was a major one. He starred in some of the biggest films of the early 2000s, including the cult classic Batman Vs. Cornelius Stirk, the intensely horrific masterpiece The Devil’s Appetite Knows No Bounds, and an Oscar-winning performance in Choke. He was, by all accounts, a beautiful human.

And here I am, stuck with the guy who jerks off to my tits after he eats someone.

God, I hate him.

I took a deep breath. Time to trick some poor fools.

“Hi!” I said to a fat man. Eric always told me he liked the fat ones because it satiates him longer.

“Hm? What’s up, little lady?”

“Are you a fan of Eric Hastings Jr.?”

“Of course I am. Isn’t everyone?”

“Well, what if I told you I had a once in a lifetime opportunity?”

The man raised his eyebrow. “Go on.”

“Would you like to meet his son?”

He laughed. “What, so I can feel bad for that blowout? Absolutely not!”

He walked off. I saw a kid and a woman walk up to him.


I almost killed a family man.

I need to be more careful.

The sun was falling below the horizon and I was striking out time and time again. Nobody wanted to go see him! Not that I blame them.

I was about to give up hope, until Bob showed up.

“Hi sir!” I said to him.

“Whatever.” He said as he walked by me. He was tall and muscly with a shaved head.

“Sir!!!” I yelled back.

He turned around. “WHAT?!?”

I stepped back. “D-Do you want t-to m-mee-”

“Spit it out already!”

I gulped. “Doyouwanttomeetacelebrity?”

He leaned in. “Huh?”

“Do you want to meet a celebrity?”

He leaned back. “Who?”

“E-Eric Hastings the Third…”

The guy laughed. “Ah, shit, I love him! I’d love to meet him! Where’s he at?”

“His house.”

“I get to see his house! NICE!!!” That tough guy facade had completely dissipated.

“Yes sir, come with me.”

“Siiiick! I’m Bob, by the way!”

“Valerie.” I looked into his eyes. He seemed friendly.

I’m sorry, Bob. You don’t deserve this.

I walked him to my car and I drove to his end. He wouldn’t stop talking about Eric.

“So you work for the man, huh?”

“Yes sir.”


“It’s alright.”


I shrugged.

“Maaaan, when I saw him in National Lampoon’s Unwatchable Garbage, I thought he was a riot!”

I put on a fake smile. “I’m glad you liked that movie.”

“What’s your favorite EH3 movie, Valerie?”

None of them, I thought. They’re all hot garbage.

“All of them,” I said. “They’re all so great.”

“Nah, that’s a cop out! What’s your favorite?”

“I guess if I had to pick one, it’d be Why Do I Lie.”

“Ugh, that’s his WORST one. He’s barely in it!”

It took insurmountable restraint to tell him that’s why it’s my favorite.

We arrived. My stomach churned.

“Here we are, Bob.”


I escorted him inside of the secluded mansion. We walked through the foyer and into the living room. There he was: Eric Hastings III, the reason I unfortunately get up in the morning. He swept back his illustrious blonde hair and sat on the couch like he’s some sort of king.

“Hey, Val! Love your outfit!” Eric said.

“Thanks.” I looked at my blue pantsuit. It actually did look nice.

“Oh. My. God.” Bob exclaimed.

“Ah, Val, who’s our guest?”


“MY NAME IS BOB CONRAD, SIR!!!! IT’S AN HONOR AND A PLEASURE TO MEET YOU!” As if he teleported, Bob shot over to the couch and violently shook Eric’s hand.

“Whoa, hey now, buddy! It’s nice to meet you!”

Bob chuckled. “You called me your buddy, sir!”

“Well you are, aren't you?”

Eric looked at me and motioned for me to go in the bathroom and get ready.

I heard Eric ask him what his favorite movie of his was as I locked the door. I unbuttoned my suit and kicked my shoes off, removing my underwear as well. I looked in the mirror, seeing all these freckles covering my body. I look okay. Not good, not bad. My breasts weren't an ideal size, and my ginger hair doesn't look as good down there as it does on my head.

But it keeps Eric from doing worse than murder.

I left my headband and glasses on and opened the door. The conversation had turned from movies to Bob’s bloodcurdling screams. The feast had begun. I peaked around the corner and saw Bob, who was so happy to be here moments ago, sprinting for the door. His arm was hanging from the socket and his neck had a massive chunk bitten out of it, but he was alive.


I said nothing and stuck my foot out. He tripped, falling and breaking his neck with a sickening crack. I felt nothing.



He made his way into the foyer and saw the corpse. His smile faded.

“Aw man, why’d you have to go and kill him? Now he’s gonna taste bad!”

I sighed. “I’m sorry, Eric. Maybe you can snack on him while you…”

“Nah, I’m not in the mood for that anymore. I’ll just eat what’s left. You better go find me a live one tomorrow, cuz I’m not waiting another two weeks with this in my stomach.”

I said nothing.

“Go get dressed, you look like a whore.”

I sauntered back to the bathroom and quietly put my clothes back on. I looked in the mirror, ashamed. Assistant to a cannibal. No real relationships. All the people I meet are food for him. I fell down and wept, not because of my sins but because of my hopelessness. All because I wanted to help an elderly family friend.

I bit my thumb hard enough to draw blood and watched it trickle down my hand. It dripped onto the floor with the same force as Bob’s head.

I could have been a stockbroker.

Eric came in, covered in blood.

"Hey Val, just wanted to tell you, he actually didn't taste that bad."

I wiped the tears from my face. "Really?"

"Yeah! Still a bit gamey, but overall not bad! You did really well!" He smiled and patted me on the back. "And sorry about earlier. If you want, I've still got some of him left if you want to, y'know..."

I nodded, my eyes still puffy.

"Great! Love ya, Val!" He closed the door.

I looked in the mirror and smiled. I was blushing.

God, how I love him.

Written by SerenaWrites
Content is available under CC BY-SA