Amazing Stories: Manure Pie

"For round three," said Ralph, "there are four remaining contestants. Alan will now take out his third choice for the gross-out competition!"

Alan nervously opened another bag, and everyone strained forward to see what he'd chosen. They gasped as the paper was folded back.

"Stale, moldy bread!" he said.

Ditto smiled at me, like a cat smiles when it's about to eat a mouse.

Patrick screwed up his face.

"I can't eat that," he said. "Mum says it's dangerous to eat mold. It could be poisonous!"

"I'll eat it," I said.

"But it might poison you," said Patrick.

"I don't care!"

I caught Ditto's eye, challenging him.

Alan broke the slice of greeny-blue bread in half and passed it round.

"How much of this do we have to eat?" I asked.

"Only as much as Alan eats," said Ralph.

Ditto and I watched Alan nibble a piece of bread and then we did the same. It was almost tasteless, but just the thought of having the furry stuff in my mouth made me gag.

"Have you all swallowed?" Ralph asked.

We opened our mouths to show him.

"Round four!" cried Ralph. "Alan, take out your next delicious treat!"

All the kids giggled.

Alan didn't look at all well. His hands were shaking. I hoped it wasn't the mold, starting to kill him.

Alan held up a jar of something purple and brown.

"Old jam," he said, "from my grandmother's cupboard. I don't know what sort it is."

"What's so gross about that?" called someone in the crowd.

"It's dated 1906!" said Alan.

He pried off the lid and shook the fragments of rust clear. Then he dug into the contents with a spoon. We could hear the edge of the spoon grating against a hard, crystallized surface of sugar.

He gave us each a lump of whatever it was and we tried to eat.

It was gingerly, crunchy and stale. It smelled of dust, and rust, and old paper, and perished rubber and mice.

"Yuk!" said Alan. "I can't eat this!"

He went to the taps and washed his mouth, spitting many times.

"Round five!" cried Ralph, making the most of his important job. So now it was between me and Ditto, and since my name was alphabetically before his, I chose one of Alan's bags and he opened it. Ditto waited, still smug, still confident.

I held up my choice of gross-out food.

"Vinegar, with moth's wings!" I announced.

Everyone went "Ooooh!"

I poured two small glasses and passed one over to Ditto who looked at it for a moment. Even from where I was I could see the moth's wings turning over slowly in the brown fluid.