Panka and The RubberDoll

Gordo the warthog trotted into the house to see his good friend Slate Raccoon at the kitchen stovetop, poring over a bubbling pot. He wrinkled his snout at the smell that came from the pot and seeped into every inch of the room. It smelt very much like burning tires or fresh asphalt.
“Slate, what are you cooking?” Gordo said, pinching his snout shut with his fingers. He moved in closer to the raccoon and peered over his shoulder down at the pot which was full of a dark, bubbling sludge that hissed and lurched as Slade stirred it with a long, thin spoon with a spade-shaped head.
Slate didn’t answer; he was absorbed in whatever he was doing. He kept on stirring and mumbling strange words that Gordo never heard before under his breath.
“Slate?”
Slate turned to see the warthog standing behind him, his snout wrinkled in confusion.
“Ah, Gordo!” Slate said, grinning a big, toothy grin. “I didn’t see you come in!”
Gordo pointed his stubby finger at the gurgling pot.
“What are you cooking?” he said, “It smells awful.”
Slate let out a rather nasty sounding chuckle and lifted the piece of rebar out of the pot, pulling up a long, viscous stream of the black sludge up with it.
“This is how I’m going to get back at that Panka.” Slate said, his teeth shining like knife blades in the light.
Gordo huffed and stuck his hands in his pockets, his short tail whipping back and forth. “You’re still ruffled about that?”
“Gordo… he’s been dragging my name through the mud.”
“But don’t you think…”
“He thinks he’s hot as can be…”
“Slate…”
“Thinks he can go around taking my beer, stealing from me, pushing folks around like he’s king of the…”
Slate’s words drew down into an indistinct mumbling and Gordo backed off, knowing that the feud had been going on for too long for Slate to be talked out of anything.

Gordo closed the door behind him as he left; Slate paid him no mind as he continued his work.
After stirring the sludge until it was just the right consistency, Slate dumped out a big glob of it onto a work bench and put on a pair of thick gloves he left off to the side of the stove.
He took the glob of rubber and began sculpting and kneading it. He shaped it into a rough humanoid figure, with thick, stubby arms and legs, a pudgy belly, and a round head.
Slate took a swig from a tin water bottle and set about adding the finer details. He took two clumps of rubber and shaped them into a pair of long ears for the doll. He added a small snout with a tiny pink shirt-button nose. He took two pea-green marbles and used them for the doll’s eyes. He plucked a few bristles from an old painting brush and used them for the doll’s whiskers.
Slate took a step back to admire his work so far; “Well aren’t you a charming little thing?” He said, beaming and stroking his whiskers. “You need something else though… a little extra ‘flair’.
Slate shuffled over to an old laundry bin and began rooting through the old, musty clothes inside. He pulled out two pieces of clothing that were just the perfect size to fit on the doll: a ratty old button-up shirt and a red paisley-pattern neckerchief.
He dressed the doll up and etched a little smirk into its face with a wood chisel. His tail swept back and forth as he admired the completed doll. Its black rubber body glistened in the yellow light of the workshop.
Having completed the doll, Slate set about the next part of his plan. He took the doll and went out to an old dirt road that Panka often traveled down. He picked out a nice spot on the side of the road by an old wooden fence and propped the doll up against one of the weathered fence posts.
Slate’s ears pricked up as he heard Panka coming. He ducked into a hedgerow on the other side of the dirt road and began watching and hoping that his gambit would pay off.
And he waited.
And he waited.
Finally, Panka the rabbit came around. He had his long, brown ears folded back and he had his paws in his jacket pockets. He was strolling along as Slate watched.
Panka passed by the doll and raised his paw at it.
“What’s up?” he said.
The doll said nothing.
Panka stopped and gazed at the doll.
“Hey man, I’m talking to you.”
The doll said nothing.
Panka knitted his rabbit brow as he closed in on the doll. He wasn’t used to being ignored, so he started again with the stranger on the road.
“You hard of hearing or something? I said ‘What’s up’?”
Again, the doll said nothing; and Slate chuckled under his breath from his hiding spot.
Panka huffed and began to leave the doll behind when it reached out its glossy, fingerless arm and shoved him backward with alarming strength.
“What the...”
Panka tried once again, but the doll shoved him back in an almost playful way but Panka was not in the mood for such nonsense, he had places to be.
“What’s your problem?”
The doll said nothing; Slate was almost choking from holding back laughter.
He tried to step to side and run past the doll but the doll would match his speed and get in front of him, he tried to sidestep to the right, and the doll matched his movements exactly and blocked him. He tried to sidestep to the left and the doll did the same. The doll simply would not let him pass no matter what he did.
“ Okay, this is pissing me off. “ Panka said with gritted teeth. “I’m giving you one last chance to get out of my way.”
The doll stood its ground.
“You have ten seconds…” Panka sneered as he rolled up one of his sleeves.
The doll said nothing, Slate was grinning like a shark.
“Ten.” Panka said as he balled up his fists. The doll did not respond.
“Nine.” Panka stepped toward the doll, who still did not respond.
“Eight.” Panka cracked the knuckles of his paws. The doll stared straight at him.
“Seven.” Panka was quivering with anger, the doll stood still.
“Six.” The doll still paid no heed.
“Five.” Panka was staring straight into the doll’s marble eyes.
“Four.” Panka balled his paws into fists.
“Three.” The doll cocked its head to the side.
“Two.” Panka drew back a fist; his arm was like a tightened spring.
“One. “ The doll shrugged.
“Times up!” Panka shouted as he swung at the doll, hitting it square in the belly. In that instant, Pamka realized something was wrong. The second his fist connected with the doll’s gut, it sunk into the doll’s body with a wet creaking sound. “Leggo of me!” Panka pulled with all his strength but no matter how hard or how long he pulled, his arm would snap back right where it was stuck in the doll. Its insides were warm and elastic, and very warm.
“I said let go! Turn my arm loose or I’ll beat you to death!” Panka tried to keep up his tough appearance but deep down he was afraid, and a little of that fear crept up into his throat and his voice began to quiver.
The doll stared dead straight at him as he reared back his free arm and snapped forward with a straight punch to the doll’s chest.
Again, Panka’s other arm got stuck deep in the doll’s glossy body. He let out a little scream as he felt the warm gooey material reach his elbows.
His tough guy act evaporated and he was pulling and thrashing like a game bird in a sack.
“Let go of me or I’ll kick your head in!”
The doll reached its own arms and gripped his neck, its featureless mitts wrapped around his throat and melded into a solid ring.
Panka kicked the doll in the groin with all the strength he could muster but all that accomplished was getting his foot stuck. He teetered around on his one free foot for a bit struggling and swearing at the doll before finally falling on his back.
He rolled around, wrestling with the doll. He bit at it, he cursed at it, he pulled and thrashed and shoved, and twisted about, but the more he struggled, the more the doll was stuck on him, until he was completely enveloped in a tight, unbearably hot envelope of rubber.
Slate then stepped out his hiding place and stood over Panka’s writing form. He was laughing like a hyena.
“Have fun playing with my doll?”
Panka wanted all the world to tell Slate what he thought of his little prank but the rubber on his muzzle held fast, he could only let out a pitiful little groan.

“We’re finally even now, Panka. After all the years you stole from me, and mocked me.”
Panka twisted around like an earthworm as Slate nudged him with his foot.
“The coat doesn’t look like it’s quite finished yet…” Slated said.
Slate held up an arm and snapped his fingers. The rubber forced Panka’s mouth open and he choked and sputtered as the stuff forced itself down his throat. He could feel it crawl over his tongue like a snail and spread out through his insides like a tree’s roots. Thin little fibers of the rubber creeped up his face and dug into his eyes, which burned as they wormed their way into his head.
The terrible pain of it all was indescribable, he felt as if he was tossed into a boiling pot. His nerves were on fire but everything on the outside was slow, like he was in quicksand. The rubber pulled taut around him like a caul as it invaded him, the pain and the heat was too much. He was dropping out of consciousness.

Not long after, he woke up to find himself in a cocoon, feeling rested. He wiggled around like a baby until he got enough strength back to move around some more, he pushed and shuffled around in the wrapping, testing its limits until he took hold of it in his hands and tore an opening in it, with some difficulty. He squeezed his head out and he was still on the dirt road, and he could hear Slate nearby. He crawled out of the rubbery membrane. It was thin but very stretchy, but he took his time and eased himself out little by little until he was completely free from it.
Slate picked him up and dragged him to his feet and that’s when Panka noticed something was different.
He was different. His clothes were gone, his fur was gone, and his hide was blacker than midnight. It glistened so much in the sun that it stung his eyes a little.
He ran his hand down his back side and his skin squeaked under the pressure and motion.
He felt like his head was full of fog, it was hard to focus on anything, hard to think. Slate stepped before him and the sight of this scruffy raccoon made Panka’s insides quiver. The sight of the raccoon, his scent was imprinted on him. The raccoon was his master, his rock. Panka’s being was tied to the raccoon and the raccoon was his anchor.
Slate circled around him, admiring him. He squeezed Panka’s round little tail and it squished in his hands like a stress ball.
“Like your new makeover?” Slate said.
“Yes.”
Slate leaned in and smiled so big he bared all of his teeth.
“Yes what?”
“Yes sir.”
“Now then Panka. I’m willing to forgive you, but you’re gonna have to work for it. You got a debt to me. You understand?”
“Yes sir.”
“Good boy.” Slate said as he stroked one of Panka’s long, smooth ears.
“Now let’s take you home. You need to sweep my floors and cook my dinner.”
“Yes sir.”
And Slate looped his fingers around a collar Panka didn’t know he was wearing and they set off down the dirt road.