Glutton

trigger warning, use of language and violence

The rev of my car engine sang like out of tune melodies. My car driving at 100 mph on an isolated highway. I was expected at a meeting for a new job, similar position. But it was all the way in England. And the Scottish highways and roads weren’t doing me any justice.

All of a sudden I hear my petite car splutter and puff, and the turning of the wheels came to a sudden stop. Shit. I wasn’t supposed to be late. Not even a second. i was supposed to call someone. But my eye caught sight of smoke emitting into the atmosphere out of what appeared to be a poorly laid brick chimney. I was tempted to leave my car. I turned to my worn down vehicle and looked back to the warm vibe of the cabin. I clicked my car keys and started towards the funny looking cabin. It was almost as if I was drawn to it. Like a moth to a lamp.

I stepped up onto the porch. Weird. No lights. I knocked on the doors until my knuckles were sparkled with red and stood outside for a couple of minutes. No one was answering. Something was telling me to open the door ‘are you insane Fae?’ I thought to myself. I shook the thought off and turned the brass handle. It clicked open and i stepped inside. It was warm and there was an intensive smell. It was almost like someone was trying to overpower a bad deathly stench. The two scents mixed together like contrasting colours. It did not make my stomach feel good.

I turned to the living room. This place feels like a fever dream. The fire cracked peacefully. Eating away at the chips of wood stacked on top of each other, leaving small remainders of soot and charcoal behind. The kitchen was large and cozy. The oven was on. In the window something was baking. At first I couldn’t quite make out what it was through the musty glass screen. But the smell told me it was some sort of pie. I was hungry. The glutton temptation made me want to pig out on the delicacy. But I rested my temptations and tried to follow the foul odour down the stairs towards the cellar.

There was a heavy mahogany door, securely shut by its hinges. I possessed all my body weight against the door and pushed as hard as i could. The door swung open and I gagged. The carcass of a pig was lying disembodied and disfigured on the concrete ground. I put my hand on my face and screamed silently. *THUMP* my head began to throb. I collapsed to the floor unconscious.

I woke up with an agonising pain to my head, I lifted my hand to my head and felt my hair matted and tousled, covered in a dry brown and partially red substance. My lips were dry and crusty. My mouth felt dry and my body felt weak. I focused my eyes on the mosaic of cracks and crumbling walls around me. It was some sort of cellar or prison cell. Well I guess I won‘t get to England. I placed my hand on the wall and tried to pick myself up. I scrambled towards the cellar door and thudded my hands on it. Surprisingly, the door was left unlocked. I heaved it open and ran for my life.

My shoes and socks were missing and so were my keys and belongings. I ran upstairs, whimpering in pain. The kitchen. It might have some sort of medication for my headache and bloody wound. My heart was racing, I felt hot and sweaty. The smell of the pie faded. I ran to the kitchen and screeched. The pie was half eaten on the counter and there was some sort of person in the kitchen. Lying face down, with a white foamy substance oozing out their mouth. They must’ve suffered some sort of trauma too. There was blood lining the body everywhere and bubbling near the radius of the foam. What the fuck was in that pie? I stumbled back, choking down my cries and releasing them with tears. I yanked at the front door and sprinted towards the empty highway and road.

Shit, no keys. I spun around the highway in circles. Not a soul in sight. Nearby was a yellow convertible. It must’ve been whoever was in that kitchen. I tried pulling on the handle. Nothing. It was locked. A rustle in the bushes and a crunch of some sticks caught my attention. A hollering tall figure dressed in garments suitable for meat factory workers stood aside the greenery. A large knife dripping in crimson ink was held in his bulky hands and he gazed at me through a rigid mask and beady eyes just barely peeping through the holes. The figure begun to swiftly move towards me. His nimble boots chased me around the area and circled me back to the cabin.

I stood on a poorly built in nail, sticking out like a sprouting pulp of bamboo in the porch and cried out at the sight of my injured foot. I tried dragging myself towards the bench nearby and grabbed a large wooden stick. “What do you want?! Stay back!” i yelled. I struggled catching my breath. The man stopped for a second, looked around and picked up his gigantic calloused hands, yanked the stick out my hand and grabbed my feet. He started dragging me. My body flailing and impacting the ledge on the floor of the door frame. The person grunted, struggling to catch my weasel movements. I screamed out loud and I tried to bite his hand. This infuriated the creature as he grabbed my thick locks and threw me down the stairs. I tumbled and wheezed. The thwarting results of the tumble left me winded, unable to breath. I made a final attempt at escape by dragging myself along the floor before I was finally captured and put to rest.