Last Supper

Mary hummed a merry tune as she collected freshly laid eggs from the hen hut, occasionally making conversation with the clucking feathered ladies, her only friends in this far lonely corner of the world. The man had already left to work in the woods, he would return at sundown. Plenty of time for Mary to go for a quick morning walk in the cooling August air, with time to spare to get all of her chores and plans done.

She started with the laundry, scrubbing it clean of any filth and hanging it up to dry in the modest back garden next to the chicken coop. Next, the small parlour. She scrubbed the floors till they sparkled like new, the cushions were plumped and the windows cleaned, the light speckling of dust that had fallen to rest overnight was swept away and a fresh vase of brightly coloured flowers picked on her walk brought a little light to the otherwise lifeless room.

By the time this was all finished, it was around lunchtime and Mary allowed herself a brief break, replenishing her energy with a slice of stale bread and cheese, which she carefully rid of its slowly growing skim of blue speckled mould. She longed for some chutney or ham to help better its taste. The sun fell slowly across the sky, heading towards the west as Mary continued her work. First, chopping vegetables, carrots, potatoes and onions for tonight’s meal: chicken pie. The man had killed one of her chittering friends the day before and as much as it pained her to cook the lady it was a requirement if her plan was going to work well tonight. Chicken pie was the man’s favourite and she was going to make it well. The pastry was rolled and ready to go into the oven an hour before the man arrived home, now for dessert. Chocolate was scarce in these parts at the best of times, but all the way out here, when it was a couple of days walk to get into town, it was like gold. And it was her ticket out. She only hoped he would not be too angry that she had used it.

Mary had never worked so precisely and carefully on a cake up until this moment, creaming the butter and sugar together to the fluffiest perfection, folding the flour in delicately and adding the melted chocolate until it was all fully combined into a scrumptious looking smooth mixture. Now for the special ingredient. Mary walked out into the garden towards the chicken coop, shooing the little chattering ladies aside as she entered, moving to the very back. She dug her fingers between the cracks of the floorboards, wincing as she felt a splinter push its way into her skin forcefully. With some effort, she managed to remove the board and reaching into the small gap before finally pulling out a large jar filled to the brim with small, round, dark berries. Mary’s smile filled her face, it had been an age since she had smiled so genuinely and her skin pulled uncomfortably, the muscles not used to the action anymore.

Back in the kitchen, she ground a third of the berries with her mortar and pestle into the smoothest paste she could manage before combining it in with the chocolate cake mix and tipping the whole mixture into two cake tins. The man would be home soon and the pie was placed in the oven. The cake would join it soon but first its accompaniment - jam. The cupboards in the small kitchen were currently filled with all kinds of different jams and jellies that Mary had been practising on for weeks in order to get this right. She only hoped that the man was not sick of it yet. He only needed to tolerate it once more. The pot was filled halfway up with berries and the last of the sugar and Mary watched it cook and melt together like a hawk, if this burned then she may not gain the full effect of her plan. After a while she tested the jam, looking for a perfect wrinkle. All of her practice had paid off it seemed and the pot was left to cool while the chocolate cake was placed into the oven above the pie. The man would soon be home and so far everything was going perfectly, all she had to do was wait.

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David huffed tiredly, the large pile of chopped firewood on his back weighing him down along with the plump pheasant strapped to his belt which he knew would make a fine stew. The dimming orange-pink sunlight trickled through the roof of leaves above him, just enough to illuminate his way home. He was almost there, dodging around a large, normally full, bush of deadly nightshade. Some stupid animal must have filled their bellies on the poisonous fruit. He only had to cross the river and he would be home, soon his own belly would be full and his feet up by the fire. Perhaps he would have the girl massage his feet this evening. He deserved it after his long day in the woods and it was her duty to do as he said. The first year and a half after taking her had been filled with failed escape attempts and feisty disobedience, but during the last few months her fierce attitude and disrespect had dwindled and he believed that she was now at least somewhat content living in his house, finally knowing her place at his feet.

A series of gaggle clucking and the smell of dinner alerted him to the fact that he was home. Dumping the pile of wood at the door and not bothering to remove his shoes he entered the small house, trapesing mud across the floor as he headed through the hallway and into the parlour, dropping onto the sofa with a grunt and kicking his feet onto the coffee table, pushing a vase of flowers out of the way with the toe of his boot.

“Girl. where’s my supper?”

The impatient demand echoed through the house and a moment later she appeared, a large plate filled with buttery, salty potatoes and a thick slab of chicken pie sitting on a tray along with a pint of ale. She placed the tray on his lap in front of his protruding stomach carefully and he waved her away, dismissing her back into the corner. The pie was good but of course, he wouldn’t say that out loud. Nothing good came from a woman who thought she was worth something. He was doing a good thing, keeping her humble.

“Needs more pepper”, he snorted, speaking with his mouth full as food spat out of his mouth and onto the sofa cushions. It would be an offence to all of pig kind to compare him to one for this man was far more disgusting than them and far less intelligent.

Once he had finished he pushed the tray back towards her and belched, the stench of chicken pie and unbrushed teeth filled the room and the girl hastened into the kitchen to fetch dessert. David’s eyes bulged out of their sockets when she entered the room carrying the most delicious looking slice of cake he had ever seen. From the smell and rich brown colouring, he could assume that it was chocolate cake and though he was furious that she had used the very precious ingredient without his permission he decided to punish her after he had finished eating. It was not good to beat women on a full stomach, it put you at risk of getting a stomach cramp. She placed the thick piece of cake down on his lap with a pot of cream on the side. It seems she had gone all out this evening.

“Perhaps I’ll give you a special reward this evening”, he murmured, stroking her arm before she pulled away shivering, he assumed in delight. He turned back to the cake, smacking his lips in anticipation as he picked up a spoon with his stubby fingers and dug in. Slightly frowning at the unfamiliar tasting jam he inquired about it.

“It’s bramble jam, your favourite”, she mumbled obediently. He snorted, it didn’t taste like his mother’s bramble jam. It seemed the girl still needed more practice. He scoffed the cake down anyway, moaning at the delicious taste of chocolate, the cream refreshing his palette and jam leaving a slight tingling on his tongue. Within a few minutes, he had consumed the whole thing and collapsed back into the sofa in satisfaction, feeling completely exhausted after the filling meal. After a few moments, he moved to get up and head upstairs to the bedroom but found himself unable to do so. Beginning to panic he tried to lift his arm but to no avail. He couldn’t move. Despite his panic, his heart slowed and he struggled to breathe. From the corner of his eye, he saw the girl approaching, a sickeningly gleeful grin stretched across her face, eyes vicious. The two made eye contact and through his mud-brown dilated eyes the room started to spin and he could have sworn the girl’s eyes glowed. Finally, grogginess and exhaustion pulled him in, his brain felt like it was swimming in tar, and as his life flashed before his eyes he remembered the deadly nightshade bush he had passed hardly an hour before, oddly sparse of berries.