Seasonal Offering 2: The Chili-ing

I was working alone in my office when the little man in round eyeglasses walked in and handed me a flyer for The Autumn Festival And Chili Cook-off. He looked like a middle-management type: khakis, short-sleeved collared shirt (light blue, or "business blue" as I called it, because it's the only color corporate-types seem to allow each other to wear.) He was soft-spoken, and seemed almost shy as he explained that he owned the Sidron Excavation & Construction Company at the far end of the business complex, and they were inviting everyone from the myriad of different businesses to come over and celebrate the season. There would be games, rides, music, "And of course," he said, animating a little. "You're welcome to enter the chili cook-off!" 

"I'm not much for cooking," I said, 'but it sounds like fun. I'll see if I can make it down there."

The little man smiled, gave a kind of bow, and left. 

I examined the flyer. Noon to 2pm, this Friday, October the 13th. 

My favorite kind of food is free food, so I stuck the flyer to my tack board and got back to work 

* * *

That Friday, right at noon, I walked over to the parking lot that had been cordoned off for the festival. It was just me, because my colleagues all worked from home. I fancied myself a man of the people, so I had volunteered to stay and work at the office while everyone else went remote. My company shipped all our product, so customers almost never came in. I joked to my bosses that I could be gone for days before any customers noticed. Still, for insurance reasons, we had to have a physical office and at least one employee there. I didn't mind. It was quiet, I got free coffee, and no one ever stole my lunch from the break room. Well they did once but it was really me pretending to steal my own lunch. I guess I did get a little lonely sometimes. But I could turn the air conditioning to whatever I wanted. Having been born and raised in the Arizona desert, I preferred a warmer temperature than my colleagues. When they had been in the office, it had felt like a meat locker in there. 

I approached the jauntily decorated tents, booths, and rows and rows of tables and chairs, but something was wrong. I could I could hear music, but I didn't see any people. I sniffed the air and frowned. I didn't smell any chili cooking either. Was I early? I stuck my head into the main tent.

Then that little fucker with the glasses smashed me in the head with a carnival mallet. 

* * *

I regained consciousness on the floor of some kind of storage shed. I was surrounded by stacks of bags filled with potting soil, cedar chips, and limestone chalk. 

The little guy with the glasses was standing over me with that ridiculous brightly-painted carnival mallet. There were a few flecks of blood, presumably mine, on his business-blue shirt. 

This wasn't good, I thought. 

And I was right. As he began using the mallet to break my legs, the little man thanked me for coming to the Autumn Festival, and told me that every year they invited one special guest to enter the chili cook-off as the main ingredient. 

When I screamed for help, he calmly explained, between mallet strikes, that it was okay, that everyone here for the festival knew exactly what he was doing and they were all looking forward to consuming me. 

He went on and on about how one of their deeply-held religious beliefs was exocannibalism, and how it was a sacred ritual that would grant them eternal life, and that as well as consuming my body, they would also be imbued with any "valued qualities" I might possess, but not to take that too literally because even among the faithful, that part always seemed a little silly when you said it out loud, and it was an open secret that they all felt exactly the same after. He confessed to me, a little out of breath but continuing the mallet swings, that he wasn't particularly devout anymore, but the sense of community was still important, he enjoyed cooking, and at least the ingredients were cheap and plentiful. 

And because this year the Autumn Festival actually fell on a Friday the 13th in October, attendance for the faithful was absolutely mandatory. I should feel honored, he said, because all would partake. 

Once he was certain there was no chance in hell I could escape now that he had completely tenderized my legs, he said he had to go and bring the chili up to a boil and then I would be stripped and tossed in alive. Then he left the shed. He didn't bother to tie me up; he just walked right out. Didn't even close the door behind him. He knew I wasn't going anywhere. 

Through the open door, I could hear people talking and laughing, and wafting in was the unmistakable smell of fresh chili.

I had let the little man talk, had not begged or pleaded or tried to reason with him. Mostly because I was too busy screaming in pain, but also because I knew there was little use arguing with a fanatic. Also, I was desperately focused on staying conscious through the pain, because my watering eyes had seen a single large bag of zinc phosphide, a powerful rat poison, stacked up in the corner with the other supplies. 

I knew a little about rat poison from a previous infestation in the office. Since our buildings were all part of the same interconnected complex, they must have had the same issue too. 

With zinc phospide,, this stuff gets converted to phosphine gas in the body, which is subsequently absorbed into the bloodstream through the stomach and the intestines and gets captured by the liver and the lungs. 

It'll mess you up. In large enough amounts, it will definitely kill you.

I tore open a corner of a bag of the poison and began to eat. Poisoned rat bait was not my first choice of last meal, but like I said, my favorite kind of food is free food. And I can eat a lot of free food.

The rat poison wasn't bad actually; it tasted a little garlicky, but not unpleasant. 

When I was completely stuffed, I tore open a couple of the bags of cedar and potting soil and scattered it around to hide what I had done. 

The little man came back. "Everything is ready for you!" He chuckled. 

I said nothing. I had lost a lot of blood and didn't think I could speak if I wanted to. As I was dragged out of the shed, towards a massive, shining steel pot of chili bubbling over an open flame, I threw back my head and shouted, "Absorb these valued qualities, fuckers!" 

Not my first choice of last words, but I do hope they all remember in a few hours when they all mysteriously come down with upset tummies, pulmonary edema, and heart failure. 

Cause of death: food poisoning. 

THE END

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This was the original concept for Seasonal Offering, based on a real invitation at my work to a Friday the 13th Chili Cook-off. But as you can see, it needed a lot more setup so I went with the easier coffee shop one at the time. But this one had to come back as a sequel. I think it worked even though it was no surprise that this guy was going to get eaten. My stories so far rarely seem to have a protagonist who actually "wins" so this felt like a good compromise. 

It's not that I have anything against a protagonist winning; it's more of a function of these being so short that I can set them up and then knock them down, where they stay down. In a novel or movie, the protagonist would then grow or change or realize the real free chili was the friends we made along the way, and then use that to propel them upwards to a triumphant resolution. 

But they are in the wrong story for that. 

Down here are some initial notes I made. Not a lot, considering I sat on this one for over a week. But I guess the three essential elements were there: chili, cannibalism, food poisoning. 

I scrapped the gruesome carnival games because again, this whole thing started as a joke and it wasn't meant to be actual work and I spent 3 hours on this one, the longer yet, and still I had to take every shortcut I could think of. 

So anyway. Goodnight! I love you all. 

Concept notes:

Memories

Seasonal offering

Chili cook-off Friday the 13

Games like a human carving contest

Pin the tail on the human

Bobbing for apples. What? I'm guessing they're not apples

Locked him in the shed. Don't wear yourself out. 

Police Found everyone dead zinc phosphide rat poison.Cause of death was listed as food poisoning.