Engaged in her own world, occupied with her own thoughts, Jane grabbed a bottle of spice from the shelve. She placed the bottle next to the various cuts of meat already in her basket. The voice speaking in her ears through the AirPods rambled on about something that would not matter in a couple of hours. Her replies consisted of a stochastically placed “mmmhs” at various intervals of the monologue coming through the white pods in her ears.
This carried on as she piled one item after the other with one hand on the conveyor belt. The girl behind till said “Hallo” to no avail. She was greeted with more random “mmmhs” from Jane. All the background noises blended into a homogonous sound to which she replied with the undiscerning “mmmh”.
“Two hundred and sixty-two rand, ninety scents. Do you have a SmartShopper card?”
Again, Jane merely answered with a “mmmh”.
“Ma’am,” the girl behind the till said, mildly frustrated by Jane’s unresponsiveness.
“Oh, sorry. Nope,” Jane said as she proceeded to swipe her card through the machine.
The discussion ended with this response as the girl looked beyond Jane and shouted, “Next customer.” Jane did not hear this as she was already walking with the bag in her hand to the exit, on her way to the car, all the while the man in her ears through the AirPods talked on and on and on. Jane listened, but nothing of worth was said, as she concentrated on trying to find her car between the 100s of other white cars parked in the parking lot. The sun was high in the clear sky, burning her pale skin which was only used to the fluorescent lights of buildings.
Mildly frustrated with the constant sound of the man blabbering in her ears, the car guard trying to solicit money from her, and the car key not responding immediately, she sat down in the car and looked in front of her. She pulled the iPhone from her pocket and cancelled the call without any prior warning to the person on the other side. She wanted to yell, as the scream in her swelled like a wave desperately wanting to break on the sandy beach. But she pulled the yell deep into her body, grounding it, and releasing it through her feet which were safely on the pedals of the car. Her eyes closed, frustration bleeding through her feet, she felt better with every second passing. Until the hooter from the car behind her broke the perfect stream of energy that kept the frustration at bay. Her fingers fidgeted with the car door until she managed to get it open, she climbed out of the car, her feet feeling like hammers pounding on the tar road of the parking lot, walking to the car that hooted.
“What the actual fuck,” she screams at the person behind the steering wheel. The person’s window was rolled up, they did not want to confront this lady, and they merely drove on silently.
Jane walked back to the car, taking deep breaths. She turned the car on, slowly reversed the car, managing not to hit anyone, and slowly drove back home. Her air-con was the only thing that kept her cool. On the inside, she was boiling, especially due to her phone not wanting to stop ringing. She did not answer it.
***
Trevor saw his wife drive into the garage. The kitchen was cleaned, the tables set, and the fire in the BBQ (braai) was going. He just waited for the meat to arrive and the guests. Neither he nor Jane could get the meat earlier due to their work schedules. But this was an important meeting for both of them, one that needed to impress their guests and make them a little bit drunk. If all goes according to plan, the tender will fall into the hands of their company. Everything needed to go according to plan, but the meat situation was not ideal. Hopefully, Jane got the right cuts, the best ones.
She placed the bags on the counter, the glass holders making a loud bang noise on the counter.
“What did you get,” he asked.
“Anything that looked pricey,” she said, throwing her keys onto the table, adding to the cacophony of sounds.
Trevor scanned the items as he unpacked them. First the glass holders of spice mixes, then the meats. He saw some good pieces that he immediately took. “Put the rest away.”
She did as Trevor asked. He placed these cuts of meat into a container, choosing the best-looking spice mixes. It had a neon-coloured label, proclaiming various ingredients it contained but also that which it did not contain. Non-MSG. Non-GMO. Non-this. Non-that. But it also said New and improved recipe. Trevor opened the bottle and smelled the mix, and thought that this would work. He poured some of the spice mix onto his hand and licked it. It tasted better than he expected, in fact, it tasted like nothing he had ever tasted before. He tried to ask Jane what this was, but she was already in another room, doing something over the top to impress the guests. He looked at the bottle again, now with more attention. The ingredients list contained various strange ingredients; it contained codes he could not decipher. He trusted it, added some more to the meat, and to his hand, licking it clean. He took a light bite from his hand where the spices were just a moment ago, no visible teeth marks left behind. He did not know why he just did that. Before he could ponder this strange event, he picked up the bowl with the meat in one hand, and the tongs and spice mix in the other hand. He walked to the fire, looking for his wife but was unable to find her.
Trever thought it would be a good thing to start the meat early on. If the important guests arrive, they will immediately sit down and eat, getting to business. Or preparing them for business. He had some very expensive single malt Scotch whiskies stocked away in his little man cave, as he likes to think about it. Some of them were well over 20 years old. If this could not persuade them, nothing else would.
The coals were almost ready, the grid on which he would grill the meat was clean. He spread the bed of coals evenly, placed the grid in place, and waited a while before he placed the meat on the grid. The coals were still a bit too hot. He looked at the meat and a low rumble from deep within his stomach signalled a hunger in him he was not aware of. The spice mix was still in his hand. He threw more into the palm of his hand and started to lick at it again. As soon as it was gone, he bit at his hand again, this time harder than before, leaving visible teeth marks. He also sucked the palm of his hand, so hard that it started to pain. Somehow, he stopped. He placed the spice bottle on the counter close by, looking at the meat next to it. The meat was covered in the spice, and he could not control his own movements. In a sudden burst of movement, he grabbed the pieces of meat and started to bite and rip them apart. Due to the high quality of the meat, Trevor could tear off discernible pieces, chewing on them and then swallowing them. This was not enough, as he took the spice mix and covered his wet hand with the spices. As if he could not detect any level of pain, he began biting his own hand. At first, there was nothing but ferocious sounds, but soon after the strange ordeal began, blood pooled on his palm and smeared around his mouth. He could not bite through the bones in his hand, even though he tried. But this did not stop him from tearing some of the meat from his hand, barely chewing it before he swallowed. He added more of the spice mix, started biting again, and then proceeded to shove his hand as deep in his mouth as possible. There was no gag reflex and he seemed happy in this dreadful and macabre moment. Tears ran down his eyes, smudging the blood that started to coagulate around his mouth. He fell to the ground, hand in his mouth, and blood coming from his nose as he started to drown in his own bodily fluid.
***
The bell rang and Jane ran to the door, emerging from seemingly nowhere. She greeted the guests with her best fake smile and happy attitude, as she knew the importance of landing this deal. She asked if she could get them something to drink, as she closed the door behind her. The small talk was of no importance to either of them, and she took them to the kitchen. With their drinks in their hands, they proceeded to the living room.
“Trevor is outside, I think the meat would be ready in any second.”
She walked to the room where Trevor usually cooked the meat, the guests following Jane like puppies following their mother. Jane looked for Trevor, but could not find him. “Trevor,” she shouted, and as she looked at the guests, she could clearly see the returned awkward smiles. This made her incredibly uncomfortable as she turned around to not face them. She shouted again, “Trev-”, but could not get it all out. As soon as she looked down, she saw the lifeless body on the ground, blood pooling around it, and the hand halfway stuck in his mouth. She could not scream, nothing inside of her could compel her to scream. The moment was too absurd. The guests could not see from their position what Jane saw. Jane stood still in shock, her limbs stuck, chained by unseen chains keeping her from being able to move.
“Jane,” one of the guests asked, not knowing what was happening. As he walked around the table, to where Jane was standing, he saw the body on the ground. He also could not move, nor could he speak. The image in front of them sent shivers down his back. Before his wife could see the horror, he led her to the next room, and back to their car.
Jane stood frozen in the moment, unaware of her guests’ departure. The hand in his mouth looked silly, something from a child’s drawing. She started to laugh, all a figment of her imagination, she tried to tell herself. Make belief. It was the stress, from work, that caused her to hallucinate. She laughed even more, looking back over her shoulders, searching for the guests. “This is just some kind of joke,” she said to the empty room, not realising that there was no one left but her. Trevor was dead and the guests had left. “Trevor, get up,” but she still could not move. Her mind raced all over the place, but her body remained in a static pose. “Trevor,” she tried again, to no avail. Trevor remained in the comically horrific position with his hand in his mouth while his wife watched in shock, unable to move away.
The story came to me in a split second. We stood next to the fire, my girlfriend shook some spices into her hand, licking them as I cooked the food. In that split second, the premise of the story hit me like the wind: what if the spices caused her to want to swallow or eat her hand? And from that brief moment, this absolute monstrosity of this story emerged. I grabbed my camera, asked her to do it again, and photographed her. Having a beer or two in my system, liquid inspiration as I like to call it, I began writing the story. And as always, the story basically wrote itself, as it ebbed and flowed through all the movements.
In any case, I hope that you liked it, especially if you are into more body-horror-type stuff. This is one of those absurd stories that you think about, but sometimes you act upon the intrusive thought and something like this emerges on paper.
For now, happy reading, and keep well.
All of the writings in this post are my own, created and inspired by a brief moment that I managed to see and remember. The photographs are also my own, taken with my Nikon D300.
