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Hope Flings Eternal: A Hefty Halloween Story, pt 2
🕑 Added 2020-10-29 23:46:30 +0000 UTC****NOTE****
Content warning: Descriptions of blood
“James?” A voice floated up to his room from downstairs. It was his roommate Vick, James cursed. He’d been hoping for a little more time to himself to get his head together. “James! Where are you!?” James heard indistinct voices and the sound of bags being moved.
“Dude, are you here?! Answer me! What happened to your truck!?” Victor’s voice was clearly concerned. James felt his heart sink, he’d had forgotten about the huge dent in the side of his vehicle…and there were probably some bloody hand prints on it as well. ‘Shit’ James thought, face going pale as he scrambled into a t-shirt and pair of jeans. A moment later he heard heavy footfalls ascending the steps, Vick had decided to check his room apparently.
“Oh, fuck…” James murmured and went to the bedroom door, hurriedly sweeping some papers off his desk to cover the bloody t-shirt he’d been wearing the night before. As the discarded worksheets and balled up bits of notebook paper fell into the trash a plume of air was pushed out of it, carrying with it a meaty scent that was almost like pork fat. James felt a flash of hunger and a wave of revulsion at the same time, the two sensations occurring in his stomach at once was almost like the organ was trying to turn itself inside out.
He shuddered and opened the door just in time to come face to face with Vick at the top of the stairs. There was worry on Vick’s broad dark features, but for a moment James didn’t see his hefty friend when he looked at Vick. He had a brief and horrible vision of his colossally corpulent attacker from the night before and staggered backward.
“Dude, James, it’s me, Victor!” He said softly, stepping forward cautiously, his concern almost fear now. “Your best friend since Middle School, you know…your roommate? Barbarian to your scoundrel bard, you remember right?”
James sank down onto the two person sofa that was beside the door with a long sigh, he was furious with himself. He took several deep breaths and after a few seconds was finally able to relax in the comforting presence of his large friend. He just had to shove down the events of the previous night and stay calm.
“I’m sorry Vick…” James said as Victor settled his bulk onto James’s bed, there wasn’t room for the two of them on the small sofa. James felt another disconcerting flash of sensation as the plush curve of Vick’s underbelly became visible beneath his shirt as he sat…hunger and then revulsion, just as he’d felt when the plume of air had wafted up out of the trash can. He hoped fervently that his friend wouldn’t notice. But there was a probing quality to the look Vick was giving him.
“What happened,” Victor said, leaning closer. James had to fight the urge to shrink back, once again visited by the specter of his attacker, as he made himself answer.
“I-it was a deer. A big buck ran out of the woods and hit the truck broadside while I was on my way home.” James said forcing himself, with some difficulty, to retain eye contact because he knew that breaking it was one of his tells…and Vick knew it too.
“And the blood, there was a hand print, James?” Vick said, apparently picking up on his friend’s discomfiture and settling back. Though he gave James another searching look; James could tell Vick knew he wasn’t being completely honest. James mentally cursed the difficulty of lying to someone who had not only known him for years but was also pursuing an advanced degree in clinical psychology.
“I got out of the truck…and pulled it off the road the thing was mangled…I got the blood on my hands and shirt. I-I…don’t remember where it hit me…the road I was on I mean.” James said quickly, seeing a possible hole in his story and trying hastily to cover it. “I guess I’d had too much to drink before I headed home.”
Victor had been at the same party, the Spooky Season Kickoff Party that their graduate student cohort hosted when the leaves were starting to change in earnest; he narrowed his eyes but didn’t pursue the subject. “Alright…I’m not gonna ask what’s eatin’ you. But you do seem really thrown off your game. Remember I’m here for you okay?” He said as he stood up and clapped James on the shoulder. He fortunately missed how James blanched at the “eatin’ you” comment.
The slimmer man had just enough time to compose himself before Victor was facing him again, “But, uh, I brought breakfast, and Annie is frying up some more bacon because she doesn’t think there is enough for three people. And, if you had as much to drink as you say, then I figure you might need a little bit of a hangover cure.” The hefty man turned to the door and started down the stairs, “Though I don’t have any Hair of the Dog that Bit You.” He chuckled to himself and went down to join his girlfriend.
James could hear something frying below and his stomach rumbled again, pure hunger this time; he was relieved to note. He followed his friend down and tried to ignore the hushed murmuring he could hear from the kitchen, and which cut out quickly as his footsteps heralded his approach.
***
As it always was when Vick and Annie provided a meal it was a huge spread; James wondered, not for the first time, whether Anna Maria was trying to fatten Vick up even more. James found himself eating a lot more than he normally. Vick seemed to be relieved that his friend at least had an appetite but Annie kept giving James odd looks; especially when he’d wipe up errant grease with a bit of biscuit to eat or suck on the bacon a while before swallowing. For his own part, James thought something was a little off with his eating habits too. He’d never been able to stomach this much rich fatty food before, and as he contemplated that the specter of the previous night loomed again. He shuddered but was able to shunt it aside easily now, he was getting better at deflecting it already.
When breakfast was over, James had eaten almost as much as Victor had. Annie was watching him with something like surprise and admiration, and she looked even happier when he offered to do the cleanup. He figured it was the least he could do as thanks.
He gathered up the flatware and cutlery and carried it to the sink. As he dropped off the plate which had held the bacon he wiped up a large glob of grease and popped it into his mouth without thinking. James shuddered, the glob of pure bacon fat was the most delicious thing he’d eaten that morning…even when accounting for the half dozen pieces of bacon he’d put away. He stared at the plate; it was still smeared with bacon grease. A tiny whisper of revulsion tinged his sudden (and really inexplicable due to the amount he’d eaten at the table) hunger but it was quickly quelled by the simple desire to continue eating.
He heard Vick and Annie move to the TV room and start talking about what they should watch on their day off. With the lowered likelihood of witnesses all of James’s inhibitions vanished and he polished the plate clean like a kid trying to get every last vestige of cake frosting before surrendering their plate. He leaned against the counter, sucking on his fingers as a warming sensation bloomed in his belly. James suddenly felt stronger, the trauma he’d experienced the night before felt a little less important somehow. Though, accompanying this sudden sensation of potency was a strange warping feeling in his jaw bones.
Some anxiety returned then as he cautiously probed at his jawline, it felt segmented and disjointed but it wasn’t painful. “What…” He murmured as his finger brushed over his teeth, there was a sharp pain.
James let out a surprised gasp, but thankfully his roommates were already watching some campy Halloween movie or other and couldn’t hear. James looked at the side of his thumb; there was a long thin cut there, which was already closing up. Soon there was nothing there but a drop of blood. Heart pounding, the raw panic from the night before flooded back into him with such force that he nearly collapsed. James staggered back against the counter and gripped it hard with both hands while pinching his eyes closed.
“Nothing happened….nothing happened…nothing happened…” He muttered again and again under his breath until his heart finally stopped hammering. He took a step toward the center of the kitchen and when he turned toward the sink to start washing the dishes he saw what looked like eight shallow dents in the hardwood counter’s surface. Panic threatened to seize him again but he pushed it down and got the flatware clean as fast as he could, which turned out to be pretty quickly despite how his hands were shaking. His heart was still thudding slightly when he put the last piece of cutlery in the dish drainer and turned around to leave the room.
When he was done, his eyes fell on the jar of bacon grease on top of the oven. It was still mostly liquid and almost clear. As he’d felt when he looked at the plate with its film of bacon fat, James felt another flash of hunger and suddenly he could smell it as vividly as when it had been cooking. Without thinking he crossed to the stove and picked up the pint jar.
The glass was slick with grease, but instead of feeling grossed out or put off at all he felt hungrier. There was a brilliant but tiny spike of revulsion deep in his brain as he lifted the jar to his mouth as fluidly as if it contained nothing more than warm apple cider and gulped it down. A plume of intense bacon grease scent washed over him, but the only reaction to that was a spike in his hunger. The fat coated his throat, and poured into his stomach in thick rapidly cooling dollops. The worst part was that only the smallest bit of his psyche was the least bit bothered by the scent and sensation of gulping down a pint of pure grease.
Warm pig fat dribbled over his face and a few droplets pattered onto his upper shirt, and part of him was annoyed that he wouldn’t get to gulp those droplets down with the rest. Before he could rally his logical side to stop drinking the jar was empty. James’s hands trembled and he nearly dropped the greasy little jar, he hurriedly turned to the sink. He dropped the jar into the little tub of hot soapy water he’d used to clean the dishes, but what he started to scrub almost obsessively was his face.
Once the last few drops of the warm fat had drained into him the exultant delectable pleasure had ebbed away. Horror and disgust replaced the almost rapturous bliss that had gripped him. The bacon fat had gone down like manna from heaven, but now he felt sick, his stomach churned with revulsion. Shuddering James tried to wash his mouth out but it was as if his body had been starving for the fat and there was little to purge from his mouth. At that realization he stood leaning over the sink for several minutes trying to make himself vomit. His stomach clinched but wouldn’t release the glut of food he’d consumed fifteen minutes earlier that morning, or the pint of pure fat he’d downed on top of it.
He splashed more hot water onto his face and then ran cold water and splashed himself with that too. James finally felt a little more normal and reflexive suppression kicked back in. He had just been washing dishes, oh and there’s one more to go! James cleaned the jar which had held the bacon grease, placed it in the dish drainer, and then went to join his roommates for a campy movie about a trio of witches. He didn’t notice that that a beam of midmorning sunlight illuminated his arm painlessly, or that his paunch was almost back to its normal size.
