A Feast to Die For

Writing Practice #5 Theme: food Focus: horror

Carlos stared at the feast in front of him, his mouth watering. Nearest to him was a round platter covered in cubes of a pale-yellow cheese, slices of salami, crackers, grapes, and strawberries, all delicately organized. Past that was a bowl of creamy, white soup with a layer of bright orange cheese on top; Carlos thought it might be potato soup, by the smell. A cucumber-tomato salad sat next to that, and the sour smell of its vinegar dressing made Carlos salivate even more. What looked like something wrapped in bacon was piled on a plate further away; maybe pork or chicken, Carlos guessed. At the very end of the table a multi-layered chocolate cake towered over the other dishes.

A loud rumble emitted from his stomach. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten something. Was it yesterday? Or the day before? He desperately wanted to devour the food that enticed him from inches away, that almost seemed to mock him. Unfortunately, the shackles around his wrists held him securely in his chair.

The door opened silently, and a young woman shuffled in. She was blond, and her medium-length hair was tied up into pigtails. Her sweater was light green, and her brown skirt flowed down around her ankles. Black boots peeked out from underneath. She looked very average, Carlos thought. About 5’5”, with a plain (but not ugly) face…someone who could easily disappear in a crowd.  

“Hello,” the woman greeted softly as she drifted toward him. “Sorry about the rough treatment; my brother isn’t the best host, I’m afraid, and I was out of town. I hope this specially-prepared meal will help to make up for it.” She gently unlocked his handcuffs.

“What the heck is going on here?” Carlos asked angrily, his voice hoarse. He tried to stand up, but the woman pushed him back down into his chair with a surprising strength.

“You’ve been chosen, Carlos.”

“Chosen for what?” he asked, still agitated.

“It’s a long story, and I’m sure you’re just about dying of thirst right now. Why don’t we discuss it over a drink?” She shuffled over to a table Carlos hadn’t noticed before, where a bottle of wine and two wooden goblets sat. She poured them each a drink, and handed one to Carlos.

“Fine, but you better start talking fast,” he said, “and you’d better have a very, very good explanation for all this. I’m sure the cops have been looking for me, and I bet they’ll find this place any minute now.” He angrily took a gulp of the wine, though it was quite apparent that his hands were trembling.

“Of course, of course. But wouldn’t you like to have a bite to eat first? It would be a shame if all this delicious food got cold, don’t you think?” She handed him a set of plasticware, which looked quite out of place among the formality of the dishes on the table, Carlos noticed absently.

“Absolutely not, I �"“ Carlos was cut off mid-sentence by another insistent growl from his stomach. His head was starting to feel cloudy and detached. “I �" I suppose you might be right…” His face scrunched in confusion.

“It’s all yours, dear,” the woman encouraged with a gentle smile. “No need to hold back.”

Carlos hesitantly took a spoonful of the soup; his eyes widened, and he began shoveling more into his mouth. He was soon devouring as much of the meal as was humanly possible, hardly taking the time to chew and swallow. The food consumed his attention, and the woman was all but forgotten.

She smiled pleasantly as she surveyed the scene from the corner of the room. A few more feasts like this, and Carlos would be perfectly plump just in time for the full moon.