Deep in the campus of a prestigious university, in a forgotten spot where you would never care to go, a mysterious bench lies in wait. I call it mysterious, as many would, but it looks like a rather common bench, if a bit too tidy or a bit too dirty depending on the season and the amount of time since the last custodian was eaten.

It’s never been too enthusiastic about eating, really, which is why it chose such a secluded location to make its lair in the first place. In fact, it avoids eating so much and so often, that those a bit too sensitive among the few that know of the bench’s existence may feel compelled to call it an anorexic bench, though that would be a stretch; because while it may indeed be a particularly thin bench that doesn’t enjoy eating as much as some humans do, it is called “The Devouring Bench” and not “The Regular Bench”.

And every now and then, a couple of young passionate lovers all out of romantic hideouts or a distraught youngster in a reserved mood or a dedicated bookworm in desperate need of silence to finish what is most probably not required reading, will find their way into a forgotten patch of ground in a dark, awkward corner of the campus; a corner that, were they paying attention, they’d be sure to find architecturally offensive in every respect, but that will nonetheless provide everything they require at that particular moment: silence, privacy and, in the middle of a forgotten square, a single, almost regular-looking bench.

And so it is that, as easily as they escaped the crowds on the food court and the campus square and the library, they will disappear into thin air, as if devoured by the ground. Not that they were devoured by the ground, of course, they were just devoured by a devouring bench. A devouring bench that may not enjoy devouring all too much, but does enjoy tidying up, and will be glad to make the best of its oft-forgotten nourishment and clean itself of all of the dead leaves and bird poop that will inevitably have accumulated on top of its scrawny frame. It likes tidying up, the devouring bench, and for many reasons. It’s the closest thing it has to a shower, for one, and the Devouring Bench can’t take showers but, if it could, it would like long showers, because the Devouring Bench is the introspective type. Of course, the more obvious reason –and the one those more cynical among its secret witnesses would like to point out—is that it becomes more inviting to potential prey but, really, it’s mostly just that the Devouring Bench is very considerate and would rather people have a good time on it if they’re going to be devoured and, who could have a good time in a bench full of bird poop? Not many people. This is why it keeps itself nice and clean and comfortable; or as comfortable as its old wooden backrest and rusty hinges allow it to be, anyway.

What a pal.