Poppy Seeds

Kira owns a neat little restaurant in the Yorkshire countryside, but when one of her customers dies from an allergic reaction, things go terribly wrong.

Complaint after complaint with this woman. Back to the kitchen. More orders. Three diners left, closing time, 1 hour. Whisking the creamy mayonnaise, plating up, quickly swiping the unwanted speckles of imperfection off the plate with a tea-towel.

‘I’ll take the last one out, Patel, you can start packing up’

Kira whipped the creases out of her tea towel and draped it over her arm, carefully balancing the plate of French sortied chicken with poppy seed mayonnaise and a garnish of fresh parsley and saffron on her other arm. Pushing through the doors she saw the lonely figure of a well-groomed, clean shaven man with dark hair and a large protruding nose sitting at the last occupied circular table with a dull orange light from a table-lamp being the only source of illumination.

Middle-aged, the man turned his head with the frailty of a senior citizen. Kira carefully placed the chicken in front of the man and said ‘There you are’ then straightened up with ‘Enjoy!’

Kira turned to leave but was stopped by the dry voice of her customer.

‘You must be the chef’ he said quietly.

Kira turned around. ‘Yes’ she nodded ‘how did you know that?’

The man lifted up his skinny pale hand and gestured to Kira’s dirty apron ‘The sign of a good cook’

‘A good chef’ she corrected. The man said nothing, Kira would’ve said he was offended by her comment but his expression was … well there was no expression. The man was impossible to read. The man then turned back to his meal and gingerly grasped his hands around the cutlery and began to eat. Kira, a little perplexed, backed away from the table and shrugged, hastily charging back into the kitchen.

Patel was doing some accounting in Kira’s office when she walked in. The yellow glow from the exterior lights was streaming through the blinds into the room. Patel looked up, his Indian face frowned in concentration.

‘Oh good’ said Kira, referring to Patel’s exceptional book-keeping methods. ‘Where’s Jacob?’

‘Washing up’ said Patel.

‘Oh good’ Kira repeated herself. She suddenly found herself looking around for things to do, in a cruel contrast to the overbearing hustle and bustle of the last few hours.

‘You can probably go home now, boss’ Patel’s brown eyes were watching her from behind the desk. Kira sighed. ‘I guess so’ she admitted. Then she picked up her handbag and said goodbye to her employees, exiting out the back of her award winning restaurant nestled in the green surroundings of the Yorkshire countryside.

The night air was cold, but unmoving and the dark was blacker than coal with no moon for mercy. Kira stepped from the pebbled car park into her Lexus and put the keys in the ignition, leaving her restaurant behind and gliding over the little hills and valleys on her way home.

Bronson will be hungry she thought as the light from her headlights ran quickly in front of the car. I had better get home or he won’t let me take him for a walk tomorrow morning, and she did so much adore her Saturday morning walks through the misty grass ridden landscape near her house.

The Lexus pulled up outside Kira’s cottage. It was slightly larger than what a cottage would normally be referred to, but Kira liked the word ‘cottage’ so she stuck with it. The house was old, near disintegration , but Kira saved it. 6 months of renovations, modern refurbishments, and even a whole extension of concrete and glass near the back that combined Kira’s love for both the old and the new.

Bronson was nesting in one of the old cane chairs on the terrace. His head shot up as soon as he felt the headlights from the Lexus on his fur. Bronson was Kira’s amiable little Jack Russell, with a white coat that looked as if it had sand strewn all through then with the occasional patch of tan colour.

‘Hello Bronson!’ she said in a high pitched voice, leaning towards him with her arms out. Bronson immediately sprung from the chair and scurried across the terrace then onto the driveway, jumping into Kira’s arm for a warm embrace.

‘Let’s go inside’ she said, pulling her face away from the dog to avoid a wet kiss.

Patel decided to stop his accounting. That was plenty enough for tonight. He closed the tall leather-bound book and yawned, checking his watch for the time. It was 8.45pm, 15 minutes until closing time, but it was a Tuesday, so no-one was ever expected to stay that late. Yet there was still a customer eating away, slowly and carelessly.

Jacob had finished cleaning up and was writing down his hours on the timecard.

‘Jacob’ said Patel ‘There is still someone eating’

‘I know, Mr Sandri, but I thought that I could maybe just give his dishes a rinse and clean it up properly tomorrow morning’

Patel was understanding, his mother taught him that. ‘Leave’ Patel insisted ‘I will rinse the man’s dishes’ and so Jacob smiled and thanked his superior, then flung his backpack over his shoulder and left.

Patel closed the door behind him and looked around the empty kitchen. Metres of stainless steel benches, top of the range cooking equipment, wonderful scales of Teflon pans hanging from their racks. This restaurant was truly an achievement for his employer, and she had deserved it.

Patel heard the clang of cutlery from the dining room, but there was something unsettling about it. Too loud, too interrupted. Patel looked to the swinging doors and pushed through them. The circular table was empty, the last customer was no longer sitting in his chair.

Patel walked towards the table and then heard a sickening gurgle and noticed the squirming feet of a man lying on the ground.

‘Oh my …’ Patel ran to the table and saw that the pale and skinny customer was no longer pale, his face was bright blue and he clutched his hands to his throat, gagging and convulsing on the floor.

‘Are you alright, sir? What is the matter?’

Patel knelt down next to the man.

‘Are you choking?’

The man could not speak. Patel clasped his hands together and pressed down on the man’s chest, hoping somehow to bring the stuck bit of food from the man’s throat. But the diner shook his head, choking wasn’t the problem. He pointed to the table, to his plate of food.

Patel thought quickly ‘An allergy!’

The man nodded, quickly losing energy and growing more and more purple.

‘Do you have any treatment on you? Is there some kind of epi-pen?’

But the man could no longer communicate, his fit was slowing down, the writhing gradually depleted and the spluttering and choking was turning to a wheeze, the disconcerting wheeze of a closing air passage.

Patel could think of nothing else to do, but to call an ambulance. He hurried into Kira’s office and dialled triple nine, following the correct procedures as quickly as possible to get an ambulance to the scene. When he was assured there was one on its way, he returned to the dining room to sit with the dying customer. But the table lamp revealed Patel’s worst nightmare, lighting up the man’s face, contorted in a twisted expression. The man was as still as the sortied chicken. Patel pressed two fingers to the man’s neck to check for a pulse. A pulse that didn’t come. The man was dead … and he hadn’t even had dessert.

 

 

Kira laid the last sheet of pasta atop her freshly made ratatouille. She had been preparing food for hours, now it was time to enjoy some of her own. The uncooked meal sat in a little cast iron cooking dish for one. Kira opened the door of her vintage styled oven and placed the ratatouille on the middle tray, closing the door again and then straightening up to set the egg timer on the bench top.

She heard sirens in the distance, through the kitchen window she looked for any flashing lights, she could see none, just pitch black.

Probably another old, retired soul leaving the aged body in which it used to dwell thought Kira, feeling very philosophical in her approach to death from old age in the countryside. An admirable death, she often thought, couldn’t complain if that was my way to go.

Bronson was vacuuming the kitchen floor. His snout pressed against the black and white tiles, breathing in and out in the attempt to pick up any stray crumbs or food scraps.

Kira watched him for a little while and smiled. Then she leant down to pick him up, carrying him into the living room where the BBC news was on quietly in the corner. She slumped down with her friend onto the sofa and watched the boring journalists drone out word after word, not really thinking about their meanings.

Things were relaxing. A Friday night, resting on the couch, smelling the pleasant odours of her dinner cooking, the warm bundle of fur curled up on her stomach slowly breathing in and out.

Kira was just starting to doze off when the timer for her ratatouille stopped and pierced the air with a chiming bell.

She heaved out of the sofa and Bronson jumped onto the ground as she stood up. To the kitchen, where the savoury aroma was making her mouth water. She pulled open the door and removed the dish with some oven mitts, then dropping it down on a chopping board to cool.

It looked good, the top a nice golden colour and a little of the tomato’s juices oozing out from the edges.

Suddenly, Bronson began to growl. He was looking towards the door, hearing something outside that set off his instincts.

A fox maybe thought Kira.

‘Come on, I’ll take you outside for a snoop’ she said, leading Bronson towards the front door. He probably needed to do his business about now anyway.

Bronson bounded over the welcome mat and ran down onto the driveway, sniffing the air and barking loudly, his hackles spiking up along his spine.

‘What is it, boy? Get the fox, get it’ Kira seemed to be egging on her little friend, and he edged closer and closer to the bushes, obscured by the darkness.

The security light flickered on as Bronson crossed the invisible threshold. Something was really ticking this dog off. His growling grew more threatening, his bark became more desperate.

Kira wanted her dinner ‘Come on, Bronson, back inside’ it was getting cold, sitting in the kitchen, she was starving, she wanted to eat now.

But Bronson wouldn’t come. Kira strained her eyes to try and see what he was barking at. There was nothing there, and if there was, Kira couldn’t see it through the security light’s glare.

‘Bronson, this is silly, come inside please’

Bronson kept barking. He was persistent in his efforts. Kira had had enough and so trudged down onto the driveway to get Bronson. Something moved in the bushes. Kira stopped. Had she really heard that? She stood motionless for a moment, looking at the dark bushes, squinting to eliminate the glare.

‘Hello?’

No response.

If there was something there, it had quickly run away. It was probably a fox after all she thought, to comfort her fears, then she picked Bronson up and cradled him over her shoulder. Bronson looked behind his master still growling at the bushes. As far as Bronson was concerned, there was still something there.

Kira had left the front door open. No. She had closed the front door after she stepped outside with Bronson. Then why was it open?

The Ratatouille was still sitting on the chopping board. The TV … Kira couldn’t hear the TV. She walked into the living room; the television had been turned off. No more comforting voices of newsreaders, just a blank LCD screen.

But who turned it off? Kira’s breathing became laboured. Was there someone in the house? Is that what Bronson was barking at? Why are they playing games with me? Could I know them?

‘Don’t be stupid’ Kira answered her thoughts aloud ‘You don’t know a soul around here except for the restaurant staff’

Kira thought for a moment. Was Patel the kind of person who liked to play practical jokes? Maybe Jacob?

The phone rang. Kira walked into the kitchen and pulled the portable device from its dock.

‘Hello?’

‘Boss? It’s Patel, you need to come back to the restaurant; something serious has happened’

‘How serious? Patel, can’t it just wait until morning’

‘One of our customers has died’

Kira widened her eyes. The shock was followed by a strong sense of anxiousness. This was the last thing she needed. Kira had fought so hard to get that restaurant up and running, she wasn’t going to let it collapse.

‘I’ll be there in 10 minutes’ she said, then hung up the phone.

I’ll have dinner first she thought. When she approached the Ratatouille to cut herself a piece, Kira’s heart skipped a beat.

No she thought. It’s just a trick, your eyes are placing tricks on you consoling herself, over and over, staring at the tray you’re tired, it’s been a long night.

But as Kira reached her hand out to touch it, she could no longer be mistaken, this was very real. A piece of her delectable dinner had been cut out. The corner piece, and now it was sitting on a plate next to the chopping board, steaming and warm.

You must’ve have done it yourself, yes, that’s it, cut yourself a piece and then completely forgot, that’s all, and the same with the TV.

She was still scared though. She called Bronson in to protect her ‘Bronson?!’

There was no response. No scuttle of paws on the floorboards. ‘Bronson?’

Then a yelp, a desperate cry for help.

‘Bronson?’ Kira walked out of the kitchen, into the living room, searching for Bronson.

‘What’s happened, are you alright? Come to me, Bronson, come on’

Her tone became terrified, a lump grew in her throat, she began to run through the house, searching each room for her beloved canine friend.

‘BRONSON?!’ she screamed. Silence. Only silence.

It wasn’t mind tricks anymore, this situation was very real, Bronson was missing.

Just calm down she thought you’re working yourself up. There’s probably a completely rational explanation for all of this.

‘The kitchen!’ she said aloud ‘I haven’t checked the kitchen’

She really had, but the stress was making her confused, Kira looked through the whole house again and again and then stopped in the living room finally, muttering helplessly: ‘Bronson … Bronson … Bronson’

Why was this happening? What had Kira done so wrong that the universe felt it had to punish her so. She lived honestly, environmentally friendly, she never killed anyone, never hurt anyone, never broken the law. All she had done was set up a restaurant in the countryside and lived at home with her little dog Bronson. Sure, the restaurant had been a complete success and won numerous awards, but does that warrant a punishment? Was that it, was it? Had too much in Kira’s life gone well that it was time for something bad to happen?

Movement. No, just a mind trick. More movement, the door to the kitchen, jostling slightly. Kira narrowed her eyes, she was looking through the crack between the door and the frame. Behind the door, something … something moving.

Her heart rate increased, she was looking closer and closer, she could hear something now, a dull breathing sound, what was behind the door? She could definitely see something, and it was freaking her out. The breathing got louder, the movement clearer, looking closer and closer, was that a …

SLAM! The door crashed shut at immense speed, Kira jumped up off of the sofa. 160bpm, surely.

There was someone in the house, now she could be sure, she concentrated her fear into focus and sprang into action to eliminate this evil adversary from her house.

A knife, a weapon, you need to arm yourself but the knives were in the kitchen, Kira looked around, nothing helpful alright then, call the police but the phone was in the kitchen too. Kira suddenly realised what was happening.

‘Okay’ her voice trembled ‘very clever. Everything I need is in the kitchen … including my dinner’

There was no response, Kira felt like she was talking to thin air, but she knew there was someone else there.

‘Get out of my house’

No response.

‘Where’s my dog? Is he with you?’

No response.

‘I’ll call the police’

A response. An ever so slight sound of laughing, only a timid little snicker.

‘You think that’s funny do you?’

Silence. Kira was waiting, waiting for something to happen. She needed to get out, get out of the house, but it would help if she could call the police. Where’s my mobile? She thought. She searched around the living room, constantly looking over her shoulder to the kitchen door; the intruder’s shadow was on the other side still. Kira began breathing heavily, in and out, stay calm, that’s the best thing you can do, just find the phone and … and stay calm.

Then she found it, or rather heard it. Her ringtone, vintage telephone to be exact, was coming from the kitchen.

S**t! Kira froze and stared at the door for a while. Then her mobile stopped ringing and Kira heard it being placed on the bench top. The shadow behind the door moved. Kira seized up again, not that she ever had the chance to release, but now this person was on the move. She kept trying to think of them as a person, she knew there was no such thing as monsters but it helped to consider them as just an average looking man.

He’s moving, I’ll move too. Kira heard him exit the kitchen from the other door, so she tip-toed to the door directly in front of her and entered the kitchen as he left.

The floorboards creaked; he was heading for her bedroom.

She found the phone and dialled triple nine, it rang for a while but then cut short with an irritating single tone. Kira put it down. Oh god she thought he’s cut the phone line.

She attempted ringing on her mobile, but it wouldn’t turn on, the battery had been removed.

Kira desperately tried to hold back tears, she felt like breaking down and just sitting on her kitchen floor and sobbing, waiting for this terrible demon to take her away, she didn’t care anymore.

But them a glimmer of hope, the distant shout of her best friend, it was Bronson, his bark was coming from the driveway. Kira peered through the window but could only see darkness, he hadn’t stepped in front of the security light yet, come on Bronson she thought, just a few more steps.

Then quite suddenly, instead of the light coming on, the lights in the house went off. The power had been cut, Kira was plunged into darkness, terrifying, unforgiving darkness.

She felt for the second drawer, opened it, and pulled out a long sharp knife, then went as fast as she could from the kitchen to the front door while holding her breath.

Outside, a breeze had picked up and was washing through the trees.

Kira clenched the knife in her hand and walked down the terrace steps onto the pebbled driveway.

‘Bronson?’ she said just a bit louder than a mumble. She walked blindly into the night, searching for her dog, her heart rate at an all-time high.

‘Come here Bronson’ just quietly, leaning down to his level ‘Bronson’

Then the hairs on her neck stood up, then she heard the sound of pebbles crunching beneath a footstep behind her, then she felt the breath of a demon in her ear.

She spun around and failed the knife in front of her screaming, a harrowing scream, as if she were being tortured.

The scream died down, but she was still breathing heavily, tears streaming down her face.

‘You’ve got some good quality knives’ the voice was so familiar. She had only heard it a few hours before, but she would never forget it, suddenly she could see the tall lean figure of a man with pale skin and a prominent nose ‘the sign of a good cook’

 

‘Well you’re right, it was an allergic reaction’ Patel stood with the ambulance driver in the kitchen with the blue flashing lights jumping in through the window and dancing off the walls.

There was no rush now, the man had died before they got here, and they’d just take him back to the hospital now without the hassle of sirens or flashing lights.

‘Do you know what the reaction was to?’

‘No’ admitted the driver ‘but he should have a card specifying in his wallet’

They had left him in the dining room.

‘We’ll take him back now anyway, we can check for a card’

Patel and the driver pushed through the doors and strolled across the dimmed dining room to be somewhat astonished in their findings. Or rather, astonished at what they didn’t find.

‘Where is he?’ Patel asked, looking around the table, lifting up the tablecloth and searching underneath.

‘Sir, you might want to look at this’

Patel straightened up and looked at the driver’s face, staring down at the table.

‘Look at what’?

Patel followed the ambulance driver’s gaze to the table and saw what he was looking at. A card. About the size of a driver’s licence, white, with a picture and information.

Patel picked it up and read it hastily.

‘What was it?’ asked the driver.

Patel paused for a moment, looking up at the ceiling to think.

‘The mayonnaise’

‘What?’

‘He was allergic to poppy seeds, the mayonnaise was poppy seed mayonnaise’

‘He didn’t say anything?’

‘I didn’t take the order’

‘Who did?’

‘My boss, Kira’

‘And she didn’t tell the person who made the dish?’

Patel looked into the driver’s eyes ‘She made the dish herself’

The ambulance driver looked a little disappointed but then quickly made a sweeping gesture and looked around the room saying ‘But where is he? He was dead, it’s not like he got up and walked away’

Patel agreed that it was very strange, but his mother always told him that strange things happen for a reason and we weren’t supposed to question them.

The ambulance left and Patel decided to give Kira a call just before he locked up. He wasn’t sure how he would phrase the fact that she incidentally murdered on of her customers … luckily there was no answer; he would call her in the morning.

He shut off the lights and locked the back door, driving his Honda into the countryside. He came up over a little hill and then dipped down before coming up another little hill again.

This pattern in the road continued for a while until it stretched out to a flat. Patel sped up a bit, eager to get home. 110, 115, 120 kilometres per hour, he was gliding along, the darkness racing past behind him, his headlights struggling to keep up with the car.

The wind was picking up, soaring through the night it rattled Patel’s Honda a little. His feet were cold, Patel looked down to the console to fiddle with the air conditioner , temperature to hot, he turned the dial to the diagram with the air waving onto the little man’s feet.

Then he looked back to the road.

For a second, Patel saw something in front of the car, he knew who it was for some reason, but by the time he had kicked his foot onto the brake, they had hurdled onto the bonnet and rolled over the car only to hit the surface of the road behind.

The Honda slowed to a stop. Patel had taken a hit of severe whiplash. The windscreen was white with cracked glass, the front of the car was dented all over.

Despite all the damage, Patel wasn’t thinking of himself. He brushed himself off and forced open the car door, stepping out onto the road and stumbling back to behind the car.

There was a lot of blood. Patel was dazed but he noticed the long sharp kitchen knife lying near the woman’s hand. It was a woman he had hit, and he knew her well. Her hair was stuck to her face, separated like weeds.

‘Oh no’ Patel was devastated, he buried his face in his hands and sunk down onto the road, quietly sobbing over his friend’s body. Kira.

Looking on, over the bridge of his prominent nose, the man was standing in the darkness, watching the little Indian man cry.

How lovely he thought to himself balance … is restored.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Reviews

[Jackson Lai]

Good writing!!!!!!!!