The Fated Feast

It was an unfortunate and disappointing series of events that had led to James standing in a deserted car park, all alone, at 1am on a Wednesday morning. He had spent the majority of his day at the warehouse, where he had worked a twelve hour shift in a stiflingly hot room with only half an hours reprieve. And to make matters worse: he had forgotten his lunch. Walking home had been agonising. Sweat ran down his face, his back ached, his legs shook with exhaustion. Not to mention the hunger pangs, cramping his stomach with every step. Only the knowledge of a bowl of leftover stew waiting for him kept him going. So he had soldiered on, arrived home, checked the fridge, and found an empty bowl sitting on his shelf with nothing else edible in the house. It seemed his roommates had cleared everything, save for two slices of lime and a questionable half pint of milk. At a quarter past one everywhere within walking distance had already closed, except for one restaurant. It was a fifteen minute walk away, and was open 24 hours. But it had poor reviews, solely one stars, though no one had bothered to comment why. Not that it mattered. James was ravenous and this place was open. That was good enough for him.

Now the temperature had dropped significantly. James shivered in his thin jacket and work polo as he walked towards the dingy restaurant. It was eerily quiet, and the only light came from the restaurant itself. A small patch of yellow escaping from a small, square window in large oak door. Every street lamp seemed to have been smashed in, a thousand shards of broken glass littering the tarmac. In contrast, the building itself seemed oddly grand. Made of yellowed, ageing marble, its single-storey silhouette stood proud against the dark of the night. Two small columns framed the front door and James wondered how he had ever missed the strange little restaurant before. As he reached the door, he saw a small, aged sign reading “Open” in both English and another language that James couldn’t place. Carefully, he stepped inside.

He was instantly greeted by a rush of warm air, banishing the chill that had settled inside him. In the far corner, an ornate marble fireplace flooded the room with light and warmth, a cosy crackling echoing across the marble walls and floors. It took up a large majority of the small room, and so the rest of the restaurant was occupied by seven small tables, and a wooden counter, which spanned across the right hand side of the room. Each table was covered in a red cloth, set out with cutlery and a pitcher of water, despite the lack of patronage. The marble walls were covered completely in a wide range of tapestries each varying in size. James found himself amazed by the sheer amount. Directly to his left, there was a life-size rendering of a young man with a piece of his shoulder missing and further down there was what looked to be a rendition of a young man holding a Caduceus being slaughtered. James stepped further into the premises, hoping to get a better look at each. There were so many, it was impossible for him to count. Just above the door, there seemed to be a woven banner holding only the letters of the alphabet, again in both English and the other language which James didn’t know. But the most impressive tapestry by far hung behind the counter. It stood from floor to ceiling, and was even wider than it was tall. A depiction of three young women standing together. Perhaps sisters. One held a thread in her hand, and the detail took James breath away, so much so, he didn’t notice when three women walked into the room.

They were old. All of them covered in deep wrinkles, with milky eyes and stooped figures. One of them, the tallest of the three, stepped forward, hobbling towards him with the help of a wooden cane. This woman had lank, white hair, so long that brushed the back of her knees as she walked. She stood behind the counter, staring at James expectantly, light from the fire dancing across her white dress.

“Name of reservation,” She said, after James remained silent.

“Oh, I don’t have one. I was hoping there would be room.” As he said this, he took another look around the deserted restaurant and shot a smile back at the woman. She did not return it. Instead, she bent behind the counter and retrieved a book so large, it was almost comical. She dropped it down on the counter, and shocking bang echoed around the room, causing the first to stutter in its grate. The woman placed one pale hand on the black, leather cover, and ran a long, bony finger down the yellowed ad crinkled pages. Coming to what James assumed was the correct place, she flipped the book open onto a double page filled with scrawled writing.

“Yes. Here. James Hempstead is it?”

Unable to speak, James just stared at her. He hadn’t made a reservation. He hadn’t even known that this place existed until half an hour ago. He was just about to say so, when the woman, unperturbed by his lack of response, continued on.

“Table for one. 1:15 am. Correct?”

James had half a mind to walk out, have some sleep for dinner, and get an early breakfast in the morning. But at that moment, his stomach cramped painfully, and instead he found himself nodding.

“Good. My name is Lae, and these are my sisters Clo,” she pointed to the shortest of the three women, who smiled broadly at James, “and A.” A gave no impression that she had heard her introduction, and Lae continued on. “We run this restaurant. It’s been in the family for thousands of years, and we hope you, like many others, will enjoy your time here.”

It was a well-rehearsed speech and it did nothing to calm James’ nerves. But he was tired and hungry, so all he said was, “Shall I sit?” He gestured vaguely to the tables behind him.

“Yes please. Table 107 tonight if you don’t mind dearie.”

Once again, James found himself perplexed. He turned around one more to stare at the seven tables that made up the dining area. He was just about to ask whether there was a back room when Lae stepped out from behind the counter and gestured for James to follow. As she walked she made no noise, save for the slight tapping of her cane, and James was surprised to see that her feet were bare. Even in here, she must have been freezing. She led him towards a table right in front of the fire, pulled out the wooden chair for him, and walked back towards her sisters. James sat gratefully and took another look around the restaurant. It looked nice enough, and seemed clean. And, of course, the staff were perfectly polite. He couldn’t quite figure out what all of the one star reviews were for. He hoped it wasn’t the food. Although, James admitted to himself, the food would have to be completely disgusting for him to even consider turning it down right now. He went to pick up a menu, when he realised that Lae hadn’t given him one. Turning back to ask her, he realised that she wasn’t there. Instead, the one called Clo was sat at the counter in front of what looked like a pasta machine. She, too, had white hair, but it was cut short and stuffed roughly into a hairnet, instead of being allowed to hang free. She was shorter than her sister, and plumper. She was also, James thought, dressed much more appropriately for a restaurant. She had on a long, blood red apron over a chef’s uniform, and on her feet she wore steel toed boots. Clo caught his confused staring and flashed him a gummy smile.

“They’re in the back. Can’t stand their bickering. I need concentration to do my work.” As she said this, she began winding the crank on the machine, and a thin line of spaghetti emerged. James privately thought that her job probably didn’t much concentration, but he thought it would be rude to say. Instead he said, “That’s nice. Could I get a menu please? There doesn’t seem to be one.”

Still working the machine, Clo said, “Don’t be silly. You’ll have spaghetti. That’s what we serve here.”

Again, James found himself confused at the way this restaurant was run, but his stomach had taken to emitting a consistent growl, and so he found that he really didn’t care very much. He would eat anything as long as it came quickly enough. So, instead of complaining, or questioning, he sat and waited.

After what felt like an age, Lae stepped back out of the kitchen, a bowl in hand, and made her way over to her sister. She took measuring tape out of her back pocket and began to inspect the line of pasta that Clo had made.

“That’s long enough. I’ll take it back for A to look at.”

James put his head down on the table, thinking of his day. It was all bad luck really. Most of the time, he enjoyed his job. No, he wasn’t a doctor or a lawyer. He wasn’t anyone important. But he enjoyed it all the same, he enjoyed how easy it was. And most of the time, his roommates were fantastic. They were all friends, since childhood, and rarely did they ever argue. One of them must have assumed that not taking his stew to work meant that he didn’t want it. That’s all it was. A bad day in a very good life. He fell into a stupor then, a wave of memories washing over him. Thinking about his whole life, all the good moments, the few bad, until a clearing of the throat brought him back to the present. All three sisters were stood in front of him, and in her hands, Lae was holding a large, steaming bowl of spaghetti. Plain spaghetti. But James didn’t care. It was food, finally.

Lae smiled at him as she placed the bowl down in front of him. “Enjoy.”

And enjoy he did, they had barely turned around before a fork was in his hand and he was shovelling pasta into his mouth. It was surprisingly delicious, and he worked on sucking up his piece of spaghetti, while simultaneously thinking of the five star review he was going to leave the place. It must have been fate, finding the restaurant, there was no other explanation. His pangs of hunger were diminishing slowly, just as he caught a flash of silver out of the corner of his eye. The spaghetti fell limp back into the bowl, and James turned to his left. There, stood A. He hadn’t even noticed that she was still there. She looked almost identical to Lae, perhaps a little older, and instead of a white dress, she wore a blue shawl that dragged on the floor behind her. In her hands, she held a pair of large, silver scissors. James managed to throw her a confused glance before he was dragged bodily to his feet. The old woman was stronger than she looked, and she had a grip like iron. She moved quickly towards the door, dragging James behind her, and, before he knew it, he once again stood out in the cold night air.

He stood, dumbfounded, unable to process what had just happened.

“Hey!” He banged on the door, demanding to be let back in. His hunger still present, barely sated. He banged until his fists were sore and his voice was hoarse. To no avail. Furious, he turned around and stalked across the car park. He pulled up the restaurants’ webpage on his phone and left a review. One stars after all. He was so angry, and so confused, that he barely looked as he crossed the road. He didn’t see the headlights, didn’t hear the squeal of the tires. He didn’t feel anything. Ever again.