That Which Eats

Tummy grumbling, I peel myself up off the couch and go to the kitchen to make myself something to eat. The floorboards creak in the silence of solitary living. The usual arguing of the neighbors below, and the heavy creaking footsteps of the neighbors above are deafening. It’s overwhelming, so I quickly click resume on my show I had paused when I first got up. Just a kid's show, but one I’ve liked for years, and though it adds to the chaos it brings me comfort because I know what each character will say next.

The refrigerator opens with a plasticky crackling from the aged seal, and the smell that hit me is of dust and mold. Did I forget to go shopping? At first glance I could already see the answer. Yes, I did forget to go shopping. I rest my head in my hand and curse myself for being so forgetful, all there is left is the three-and-a-half-week-old chocolate cake my mother brought over to me for my birthday.

This cake was incredible when Mom first brought it over. Chocolate cake with a coconut filling and a warm, rich chocolate ganache poured over the top. Now though, the cake is dry, the coconut is chewy, and the ganache is nearly rock-hard. Still tasty, but not nearly the quality it had been when I got it.

I cut off a slice, and as I transfer it over to my plate a chunk of ganache falls to the floor. But I’m tired. I couldn’t be bothered to pick it up. I close the refrigerator door and kick the chocolate chunk underneath the fridge. I shrug. It’s gross, and I know better, but it’s just chocolate. It’s not like it’s going to mold or smell, but this is how you get bugs. Whatever. I pick up the plate with cake on it and start to walk away, but I catch a sound from under the fridge so I stop and turn.

Tilting my head slightly, and smirking. “Well well, is there a little mouse under my fridge?”

“No.” A deep but soothing voice says from under the fridge. It stopped me immediately.

“Wh- What did you say?”

The deep sultry voice comes again. “I said thank you.”

“I… uh… you’re welcome? Are… you holding up alright down there?” I ask.

“Just fine, thank you.”

I think, and I remember all the other times I kicked food under the fridge or stove, and yet somehow am the only apartment with no bugs. “Are you why I don’t have bugs here?”

“Yes.”

“Well thank you for that. Um… are you still hungry? There’s nothing in my fridge, but I still haven’t taken out the trash and it has raw chicken scraps from last night. Is that something you can eat?”

“Yes. Please.”

I pull out the trash and slide the styrofoam tray with all the scraps under the fridge. “Just slide the tray back when you’re done, so I can put it in the trash. Unless you can eat that too?”

“I eat.”

“Okay.” I shift nervously. “I don’t have any other food in my trash, but now that I know you’re down there, I’ll be sure to drop food under for you. Do you move between my fixtures? Is there anything you can’t eat?”

“Yes. Only under things. Need darkness. I eat.”

“I’ll take that as you haven’t met something you couldn’t eat.”

Later I head to the supermarket to pick up food for the week. Rice, broccoli, onion, chicken, pesto. I go home and cook for the night. I make pesto stir fry with all the things I bought earlier. I drop the chicken scraps just barely beneath the oven, and next time I look down it’s gone. I scrape the sauce and whatever is leftover from my meal into the same place, and after doing dishes I see that that’s been eaten too.

“Goodnight my friend, I hope you ate well.”

“Thank you. Friend.”

I smile and head to bed for the night.

I don’t know what time it is, but I woke up in the middle of the night to shuffling at the door. I know it’s locked, so I think nothing of it and try to go back to sleep. Next thing I know, I’m hearing a raspy voice.

“I followed you home, but I didn’t think you would be awake.”

I scream, but with no response from the intruder, or any sign that my neighbors heard and are waking up. I’m alone. I can’t do anything. I’m at this stranger’s mercy.

A hand holds my head down, and as it seems my attacker shifts closer, the hand is gone. I look, and nobody is there. No sound to be heard, but a voice from under the bed.

“I eat.”