Charcuterie
written by Kelly S Lenza
concept by Peach and Shag of Spooko podcast
Content Advisory: this is a short horror story. It includes disordered eating, fatmisia, and disturbing themes.
Ethan pulled the Benz into the small overlook parking lot where an F150 waited. After parking, he had the excited couple in the back seat get out of the sedan. They grinned at each other and exclaimed at the view of the valley while he took their suitcases out of the sedan’s trunk and transferred them to the truck. Ethan retrieved the sedan’s cover and went about putting it on as the couple’s chatter grew quiet and they waited, watching Ethan expectantly. He grinned at their nerves as he produced the leather satchel from the truck and held it out, open.
“All right, it’s time. Phones in.” The older woman in the couple dropped her phone in without hesitation, while the younger woman hesitated, giving a nervous laugh as she made a show of clutching it near her heart and pretending to boohoo while her wife gave her a bemused look. Finally, she dropped it in, and Ethan closed the satchel. “Okay. Let’s get you folks down to the farm, now.”
The couple clambered into the F150, the three of them on the wide bench seat, bodies touching slightly. Ethan opened the gate padlock, swung it open and got the truck through, then locked it again. Then they started the drive down into the valley along the winding gravel road, bumpy and appropriately rustic. He noticed how the younger woman in the middle shrunk away from him just the barest bit as they were jostled by the ride, uncomfortable with the side of their body touching him. It always made him smile when guests reacted that way.
It was a half-hour down to the farm. They passed huge, grassy pastures on the hillside as they wound their way down the gravel road, in and out of stands of trees, and past isolated stock tanks. The couple asked the same stupid questions all of their wealthy guests did; they got all the answers on the website, in the pre-trip gift basket, in the contract paperwork, and the check-in phone calls. He answered them anyway. Yes, the jacuzzi was running. Yes, they could choose which farm activities they actually took part in. Yes, it would make them sweat and was a great workout. Yes, the animals were friendly. Yes, they had everything for their Paleo, Keto, and other assorted restrictive diets.
He dropped the couple and their bags off at their tiny house cabin. They exclaimed over the glass back that looked out on one of the pastures, and he gave them the same instructions to walk down the half-mile, straight gravel path that led to the main cluster of buildings for dinner in an hour. Then he drove the truck to the main house and headed into the kitchen. Cassie was carefully forming slices of salami into flower-like fans on a platter already loaded with cheese and fruits. She didn’t look up at him as Ethan grabbed a mason jar of kombucha from the fridge, taking a gulp before going through the regular routine of entering the farm office out the side of the kitchen. Cassie heard the familiar sounds of Ethan locking the leather satchel into the valuables safe. He came back into the kitchen, leaned back against the counter, and sipped from the mason jar. The circle of mother slopped around the bottom of the jar with his movement.
Ethan took another swallow of kombucha as he watched Cassie’s fingers. She curled the salami edges into a floral shape carefully.
“Are you going to introduce Ada this time?” Ethan finally asked.
Cassie finally met his eyes, her expression flat.
***
Ada held a camp mug between her palms as she looked out at the pasture behind her tiny home cabin studio. She could see two of the breeding sows, Joan and Sally, back there. Sally’s litter of piglets following her around as she tore up a spot of sod, looking for something underneath. It was a good life for a hog, Ada thought. Wandering semi-forested valleys most of the time, rooting up mushrooms and tubers and whatever the fuck else hogs could eat. Pretty soon, they’d call in the friendly sows to take the piglets away, and Joan and Sally would go back to wandering around living their best hog lives until the next breeding cycle.
Ada drank some more of the tea. It had already gone cold. The thin enameled metal mug, blue and speckled white, didn’t hold heat all that well. But it seemed Ada had zoned out again, staring off into nothing while the tea lost its heat and turned cold and bitter. Her stomach growled audibly. She shook her head wincing, rubbing her forehead with a palm before downing the rest of the bitter tea in one swallow. She needed another cup of the tea. Anything to fill her aching stomach.
She went through the routine, pulling out the tin of tea, an herbal mix dried and made on-site by Cassie. Rosemary, sage, and lemon were the biggest ingredients, though it also had dandelion and dried cranberries mixed into the oolong base. It was pretty terrible, but you got used to it. It was great for weight loss, Cassie had promised. Everyone else who took it lost weight. So why couldn’t Ada? Her stomach growled again as she waited for the tea to finish brewing. She drank it too fast, burning her throat. She winced and coughed after it was down. But it quieted her stomach. Her stupid, traitorous stomach.
Ada stepped out of the tiny home cabin, stepping into the identical but nearly empty one next door. It was fashioned as an art studio, containing a single easel against one wall near the glass side of the cabin. Though the cabin was truly small, a few rolling caddies full of paint and brushes were still nearby, waiting along the edge of the paint-smattered dropcloth on the floor. Canvases rested in great vertical stacks against the other walls, too, both completed paintings and blanks. A half-completed painting sat on the easel. It was a riot of color, layer upon layer of gesso and tints combining to form the head of a pig, clearly separated from any body. There was an awkwardly blank area where Ada planned to paint a saintly halo and crown atop its head.
She got to work, squirting tints onto her palette and starting to scrape them onto the canvas. The tea would give her body the illusion of fullness for a short period of time, but Ada knew that if she managed to get in the zone while painting, she could keep going uninterrupted by her stomach for an hour, or more. Hopefully more. Ada knew Cassie would come by later with her allotted supper and wine. Always late, after nightfall, because the guests ate first. Cassie had already told her she would respect Ada’s privacy and not force her to mingle with the rich guests.
Ada knew it was for the best. She was a failure of this exclusive program. She was desperately, bitterly jealous of the ultrarich patrons. Not really because of the money, she told herself. They essentially paid for her artist-in-residence scholarship to exist. But the rich patrons were always beautiful already. They already had smaller waists and perfect breasts. And somehow they always were able to lose weight after the program.
For the millionth time, tears came unbidden to Ada’s eyes as she painted furiously with her palette knife. But she finally stopped, still holding the palette and knife, to press the back of her wrist to her eyes, wiping them. She looked at the painting, Saint Sally looking back kindly at her. What a blessed life, Ada thought. Rooting for food. Raising your piglets. Having the responsibility for them lifted when they were taken away to the growing pen. Continuing to live her natural life out in the lightly forested pastures, eating whatever she could find, whenever and however much she wanted, next to her best friend Joan.
***
Cassie came later than usual with the dinner basket and Ada did her best to seem light and pleased to see her, not mentioning her gnawing stomach. She willed it not to audibly growl and betray her hunger. Instead, she greeted Cassie with a light kiss, her hand gently touching the older woman’s cheek.
“What’re the new guests like?” Ada asked brightly, eyes hungrily following Cassie’s basket. Cassie pulled the hinged small table down from the wall, setting it in place for them to sit together and eat. She gave a little shrug and smile as she pulled out Tupperware containers.
“You know. They’re about the same as all the other guests. Alex is some kind of attorney and the girlfriend Diya is a model and moaning about no access to Instagram.” Cassie expertly put together a plate for Ada, spreading fans of fresh herbs out, thin slices of prosciutto, and apples. Ada’s eyes focused on three small slices of a soft cheese with white, velvety rind.
“Is that double cream brie?” she asked anxiously, body tense as she tried to make the question light. Cassie looked at her, giving her a knowing smile.
“Just a bit,” she said. “It won’t hurt you to have just a bite. I know you love it.” Ada’s heart softened.
“I don’t deserve you,” she said with a tight smile, pulling a wooden stool over to sit across from Cassie at the little table. She carefully plucked a little slice of the brie, stopping herself from shoving it right into her mouth. Cassie watched Ada closely as she assembled the cheese with some of the prosciutto and a small sprig of fresh rosemary. She put it in her mouth and her eyes closed. Ada felt like she could almost weep again at the flavor. “You didn’t bring the whole round, did you?” she asked after finishing her bite.
“I’ll take it back to the kitchen when I go,” Cassie replied defensively. Ada felt her mouth press down into a line, swallowing her anger. She focused on chewing some prosciutto and thyme in silence. Cassie sighed with exasperation. “Come on,” she cajoled gently. “I know a good way to distract you from it.” A sly smile touched her lips. Ada glared at her for half a second before breaking into a grin.
“You’re terrible,” she said, but hurried to finish her meal so they could fuck.
***
Ada woke in the night with a start, clutching her stomach, which growled angrily. The lights were out and the moon came in through the huge window wall of the cabin. She looked the other way, towards the tiny fold-down table. Cassie was gone from the bed, but her little basket was still there on the table. Ada flung the sheets aside, scrambling to dig into the basket. Her hand felt what she sought and she sunk her teeth into it.
Brie was undoubtedly bitter when you ate it alongside sweet fruits, jams, and wine. But eating mostly fresh herbs and salty meat made brie so sweet alongside the savory cream of it. Ada’s mouth watered even as she ate it hurriedly, disappearing the round in less than a minute, the soft cheese turning to a creamy slurry in her mouth. She swallowed, and immediately panicked. Brie was too fatty. It was too delicious. She couldn’t resist it. She couldn’t! Why the fuck had Cassie left it in here? She knew how she struggled with it!
Ada desperately reached back into the basket. Herbs. The keystone of Cassie’s proprietary farm to table weightloss charcuterie. She ate three bunches of fresh thyme and stripped the rosemary leaves off six woody stems with her teeth. Their bitterness filled her mouth and overwhelmed the residual creaminess of the cheese, blissfully erasing the flavor of her failure.
Then she wept.
***
In the morning, she made more tea. She felt groggy and hungover. The fucking brie, she thought. Her stomach growled. She pressed her palms into her stomach angrily, closing her eyes while her jaw clamped shut. Just stop, she willed her stomach. Please. She snatched up the now-empty basket Cassie had left behind and went to hide it in the bramble patch.
Ada struggled through the rest of her morning routine. After tea, she walked down to the garden and spent an hour weeding and harvesting plots six and seven. She nibbled bites of the fresh herbs as she went. They were safe, at least. They were low-calorie, no sugar. Just flavor and fiber. It was perfect for losing weight, as was the work of the gardening. She carried the herbs into the drying shack, hanging up bunches to be turned into tea later after they’d dried.
After that, Ada walked to the storage building, loaded up the gator’s little trunk with cleaning supplies, and made her way across the vast arrangements of pastures towards the guest cabins on the other side. Cassie only offered three tiny home cabins for vacationers to rent; this current guest couple had paid enough for a private stay, blocking out the other cabins. Ada peeked into the window walls of each uninhabited cabin, making sure everything looked okay. She then cautiously approached the used guest cabin. Nobody was home — good. She didn’t want to see them. This hour was breakfast in the site kitchen.
Ada went in and refolded the towels, then wiped a few surfaces down. She eyed some of the personal belongings in the cabin. Not much, of course. But there was a pair of extra shoes that looked like expensive leather ballet flats. A set of earrings on the table. She went to remake the bed, but her finger hit something hard as she had reached for the pillow. She winced as she shook out her finger from the stub, then uncovered a tablet, tucked under the pillow. The power light pulsed in a soft, slow glow.
She snorted. Rich people couldn’t stand to actually be disconnected from the world. She rolled her eyes and finished the cleaning.
***
Ada walked back to her lonely pair of cabins, planning to work more on Saint Sally. She had hoped to visit the hogs, but from a distance, she saw Ethan and Cassie leading the guests over to meet them. There was a high-pitched squeal followed by group laughter as the younger woman in the couple got scared when one of the piglets nosed her ankle. None of them saw Ada as she walked on by. She’d have to visit the hogs later.
The rest of Ada’s day was devoted to painting, interrupted only by the need to brew tea, piss it out, and repeat again and again. She sat in front of her canvas, palette and knife in hand, staring out the window for long periods of time in the silence of her little studio. It was so hard to focus these days. It felt like she was always trying to catch up on her work but the paintings got harder and harder to make. She wondered what the fucking point was of an artist in residence scholarship if she couldn’t return with better paintings to sell, and in better health? Sure, she worked a little on the farm, that was fair. She didn’t have to. She’d just offered, wanting to help out after the first month of the residency. The fucking wasn’t a part of the residency. But it had happened anyway. Ada was so grateful to Cassie for her care and help, she told herself.
I’m just worried about your health, she could remember Cassie’s voice saying. Her eyes had been pleading and bright. I’ll cover the costs of the program for you, Cassie had added. Pro bono. Okay, Ada had told her. I’ll try the program. It wasn’t every day you got offered both a restful residency and a forty thousand dollar exclusive wellness program.
But Ada found tears coming into her eyes again. Something was seriously wrong with her. She didn’t have the willpower of a famous actress or a high-profile lawyer. She was just a no-name artist, obviously not up to snuff in terms of making a program work. She’d been at this for nine months now and was producing less and less satisfying work. She couldn’t even rest because her fucking stomach would wake her up empty and gnawing.
She’d only lost a tiny amount of weight. At first, it was easy and exciting — the first month she’d dropped twelve pounds. But the second month she’d only lost two. The third month she’d started flipping her shit for the double cream brie that Cassie procured from one of their partner farms, and month four saw her having gained back five pounds. After that weigh-in, she was pulling handfuls of herbs straight out of the garden to shove in her mouth. Cassie caught her, then. Held her while Ada gagged and sobbed, dirt around her mouth. She wanted to die.
Cassie pulled her back from the brink, then. Even though Ada was clearly broken and didn’t have what it took. She was reminded with each new set of guests who came through the farm, losing weight on their stay and sending in happy, glowing reviews for the off-grid farm-to-table program. Cassie read them proudly out loud to her and Ethan when they came in and read them out loud again when she was making thank you baskets with her special batch samples to send the clients. Ada usually smiled at Cassie’s pleasure while she daydreamed about being in a farming accident and having her fatty gut and back rolls sliced off by falling equipment.
Cassie still believed in Ada, even though she didn’t deserve it. She didn’t deserve any of this. Her mind circled through the images and thoughts of worthlessness again and again. Ada sat frozen in her studio, numb and unable to focus, for at least an hour. She wasn’t exactly sure of the time. At some point, she had left the studio and lay down in bed. Cassie found her there when she came in with a basket full of Ada’s evening meal. The older woman rubbed Ada’s shoulder, sitting down on the double bed.
“Hey,” she said gently.
“Hey,” Ada replied, voice croaking. She cleared her throat and sat up, turning to look at Cassie. “Hey,” she said again, voice smoother this time. Cassie stroked her hair, then ran her hand down Ada’s back. Her hand paused just barely over the curve of a back roll. Ada stiffened and Cassie took her hand away. Ada watched as Cassie stood and walked out silently, past the little table and the basket. It was the same basket as the night before, with some brambles still stuck into the wicker weavings. Cassie paused at the door, looking back at Ada over her shoulder.
“I wish you believed in yourself more,” Cassie said quietly. “You’re better than that.”
“No, I’m not,” Ada whispered to herself as Cassie shut the door behind her..
***
The next several days, same schedule. Tea. Garden. Clean. Paint. Zone out. Cry. More tea. Paint some more. Tea. Dinner. Sometimes sex. Sleep.
Ada went about her life, mostly only ever talking to Cassie. She sometimes ran into Ethan when she slipped in a visit to the hogs, when they were in the pasture closest to her cabins. He was in charge of animal care and butchering. After he’d slaughtered and then neatly butchered the hogs, he and Cassie worked together on the cures.
Ethan was Ada’s age probably, somewhere in his late twenties. He was nice to look at, in a lean and dirty way. Literally dirty; he was usually covered in dirt. When she’d first arrived, she thought maybe he was Cassie’s boy toy, too, but after Ada and Cassie had started hooking up, she’d asked, and Cassie said no. Ada had no idea if maybe there was a past there. They were close working partners though, that was for sure. Ada had seen Cassie and Ethan sharing a joint here and there, too. They had a friendly companionship to them, though Ethan was pretty quiet.
This morning he was scratching Sally, Joan, and the piglets by turns. Ada smiled at him and he grinned back at her.
“They’re in heaven,” she said to him, smiling at the happy grunting from all the pigs as Ethan spread out the scratches.
“Yeah,” he said simply, smiling. He swapped to scratching a different piglet.
“Do you ever, you know, get sad about them?” Ada asked, suddenly. Ethan gave a shrug.
“The only reason I can do this job well is because I know I’m giving them a good life. They trust me,” he said. There was another companionable silence as he kept scratching. Ada leaned over a fence to reach down to offer her fingers to a piglet and snuffed at her with its sensitive, rubbery nose. It left a little smudge of snot and dirt on her hand. She grinned, wrinkling her nose as she rubbed her hand off on her pants.
“I’m painting Sally right now,” she told Ethan. He looked at her with some interest. She nodded at him, then at the other sow. “Joan next.” She let a slow breath out through her nose. “I imagine their life is so good.” Her voice sounded sadder than she had intended. Ethan looked up at her, then stood up from his crouch, patting Sally hard. Dust puffed off her.
“Suckling pig at the end of the week,” he said simply. She knew what that meant by now. They worked the guests up from making their own ground meat mixtures to working on a suckling pig roast from frozen. Next, they’d have a chance to slaughter their own. It was all interspersed with garden work, hikes, and plenty of downtime. Cassie did consultations for herbal tea concoctions and dietary counseling, and took pictures of the guests awkwardly doing back-to-the-land chic activities. Cassie then made fancy keepsake albums for the clients to get in their thank you baskets.
And, of course, the charcuterie tastings and lessons. Cassie talked the guests through elaborate tastings and pairings of her specialty low-nitrate, herbed salamis and prosciuttos, optimized nutritionally for weight loss and heart health. The guests ground meat, they mixed, they stuffed it into casings. They would get it back after it aged or smoked for months, depending on the product.
The guests were there to play at farming, a grown-up, exclusive version of apple picking in the fall. Cassie and Ethan were the main people there, Ada knew, but occasionally small crews of migrant farm laborers trucked into the valley to help with the actual manual labor and maintaining the careful landscaping of the farm. The crews were shared by a string of other small, niche farms in the valley. They were all owned by a millionaire actress-turned-health expert, and the farms all supplied a high-end, farm-to-table restaurant in the city. There was a little dairy focused on cultured milks and cheeses, and a vegan-friendly vegetable farm. Each had a few tiny home cabins and hosted rich vacationers.
Ada waved at Ethan as she left the man to his work. She went straight into the studio and started a study of Joan on a smaller canvas. She’d taken a break for more herbal tea when there was a knock on the door.
“Come on in,” she called, expecting Cassie. But the face who appeared from the door with a cautious smile was not one she’d seen before. Ada frowned.
“Hello! Ada Jones? I’m Sandy Carmine.” The person walked in and shut the door behind them. “I’m a journalist.” They offered their hand out for a handshake. Ada groaned internally. Cassie had warned her that a reporter from Flux was coming out to interview them soon. Flux was the actress’s media outlet, a website devoted to health and wellness products for the elite. They wanted more promotional material from the farms for the website. Ada could feel her brow furrow and forced herself to smooth it into something like a friendly face. She took the few steps to meet the reporter and take the proffered handshake, still holding her tea in the other hand.
“Hello, that’s me,” she said cautiously, still trying to sound friendly. “How can I help you?”
“I’m so glad to meet you. I was hoping you had a little time to sit for a quick interview,” Sandy replied energetically, looking around and quickly spotting the pull-down table against the wall. “May I?” they asked, going ahead and pulling it down. Ada gave a wincing smile, nodding.
“Uh, sure,” Ada said, sitting down on one side. “Um, tea?” she offered, gesturing with her mug. “I can make you a cup.” Sandy shook their head no, pulling their laptop open on the little table, smiling a little.
“Oh no, I’ve tried it. I can’t tolerate it,” the journalist replied, sounding bemused. Ada looked at their plump body sharply.
“That’s too bad,” she said cooly. Sandy clocked it, meeting her eyes directly, smile unchanging.
“Right,” Sandy replied. “I already know the mission of the farm, and a little about you. Winner of the art residency scholarship this year. You’re a painter, right?” Ada nodded in reply.
“Yes, my current work is ah — a turning on its head of pastoral scenes, particularly with food production animals,” she said.
“I’ve seen your work. It’s genius,” Sandy replied with a tone that sounded authentic. “I saw some of the pieces posted to the farm’s Instagram.”
“Uh yes, thank you,” Ada replied, nodding her head and smiling a little weakly.
“I was trying to find examples of your past work, before this residency. It’s hard to find your pieces. I was surprised your website doesn’t have more displayed,” Sandy went on earnestly. They met Ada’s eyes directly. “And your Instagram account seems to be gone. But you had something like one hundred thousand followers, didn’t you?” Ada shifted uncomfortably on the stool.
“I deleted it,” she said simply, swallowing hard.
“Right,” Sandy said, nodding. “After you applied for the residency and met Cassie?” Ada shook her head.
“Cassie didn’t have anything to do with why I deleted it.” Ada took a huge, hard gulp of the cooled tea. It was a bitter lump going down. “I ah…I was targeted by trolls.” She said.
“Right, but, didn’t Cassie sort of offer you a way out of that?” Sandy asked, head tilting a little. They seemed genuinely curious, but Ada felt her cheeks flushing and her breath was starting to catch in her throat.
“I-I mean yeah,” Ada stammered, uncomfortably. “You can only get so many threats of rape and people telling you to kill yourself before it starts to sink in.” She paused, but only for a breath. Her heart was hammering in her chest. “It’s fucking awful. I wanted to die. This residency was perfect for — for resting and focusing on myself.” Sandy looked sympathetically at her. Ada hated her for it.
“Yeah, but — isn’t this kind of a weird choice for you?” Sandy asked gently.
“What do you mean?”
“This farm, Cassie being a nutritionist focused on weight loss? A place owned by Flux? You were railing online against this kind of program a year ago for the weight loss portion,” Sandy went on gently. Ada was on fire inside. Her stomach ached. Ada stood up abruptly, startling Sandy. But she just went to start the kettle. More tea. She needed more tea. As she banged through the kitchen, mind buzzing like a hive, she suddenly looked accusingly at Sandy.
“Are you trying to get me kicked out of the residency?” she demanded, hating how shrill she sounded. Sandy held up their hands in a look of innocence.
“No, no!” they exclaimed. “I’m just trying to figure it out!”
“Figure what out?” Ada asked as the kettle started to whistle.
“Where the other artists are,” Sandy said quietly. Ada could barely hear it under the whistle of the kettle.
***
“I used to follow you on Insta,” Sandy told her from across the table. The laptop was still open and they flipped it around to show Ada. There were screenshots of her profile on Instagram, old photos of her lined up in the grid. She posed happily drinking tea, eating cake, reading a book, making a peace sign with her fingers. Drinks with friends. And the last, conspicuous square at the top left of the grid, black, with white text on it. Announcing her acceptance of the residency and abrupt departure from the internet, and the rest of her life.
“Were you stalking me, taking screenshots of my page?” Ada asked, voice incredulous. Sandy shook their head.
“No, this is from the Internet Wayback Machine. It caches old versions of pages,” they said. “I started looking at the residency you accepted. I was just curious. I wanted to — “ Sandy paused, voice a little uncertain. “I was really upset when you left. I know you had no idea who I was. I was…really invested in you as a um…role model. For fat liberation. I was upset that you seemed to suddenly renege on all the values and beliefs I followed you for, to go be a — a pet artist for a subsidiary under Flux, apparently.” Ada frowned.
“Wait, what? Aren’t you a ‘pet’ of Flux?”
“No,” Sandy said quietly.
“You don’t work for Flux?”
“No. No, I don’t.” Sandy looked apologetic. Ada felt…strangely numb. But there was a little fire of anger bubbling up.
“How dare you,” she finally said. She hated how much her voice was wavering. “If you believe in bodily autonomy, then you should fucking respect when I want to exercise mine!” Sandy held their hands up again, looking guilty.
“I know. I know!” They said firmly. “It’s your choice. I know how shitty and dark shit is when you get trolled. It gets in your head. Just…after I started looking into the residency, and Cassie…well, I got worried.” Ada froze.
“Why?”
“Where are the other artists?” Sandy said again. Ada shook her head.
“I don’t get it. What about them?”
“Most of the other artists in residence disappear after their year is up.” Sandy clicked on her laptop, swapping to a Word document with lists of names and photos of faces Ada didn’t recognize. Most of them looked…remarkably a lot like her, she noticed uncomfortably. Fat, dark hair. Glasses. Okay, so…maybe Cassie had a type. Kind of gross but…people like what they like, right? Ada frowned.
“I don’t know any of these people. They’re probably just off doing, you know, artist crap. Or just getting by. It’s not like a residency will elevate everyone out of obscurity,” she said. She took a sip of her cold-again tea. It seemed extra bitter.
“Yeah, I mean, none of these people were famous. You’re probably the one with the biggest following. But listen, I had to dig to find these names and profiles. I stumbled into one of the URLs on the farm’s website because of a typo. I was looking at the blog saying you were accepted and won the residency, but my cat knocked my hand. It deleted the year off the URL and went to last year’s winner. Ada, there are a LOT of similarities. And I can’t find anything about any of the other artists after they finished the residency, barring a few thin artists at the beginning. But all of the rest? Fat, like us. All micro-influencers in the body liberation community, with very little family and community in person, outside of IG. And now they’re gone. Five other people.”
Ada blinked, eyebrows raised.
“Maybe they changed their lives,” she finally said. “Maybe they, I dunno, reinvented themselves. Cassie’s told me about the other artists in residence. They all — they all lost weight. Then she connected them with some of the higher range clientele. Some of the guests met the artists and bought their work, launched them big. You’re just — you’re just some person from the internet? Of course you can’t find them.” She started to get angry. “Anyway, if they did disappear, why’s it Cassie’s fault? She’s just trying to help people.” Sandy gave her a look of pity and disappointment. “Get out!” she yelled, but abruptly stormed out of her tiny cabin, walking furiously down the gravel path towards the house. Fucking looney stalker fat bitch, she thought angrily as she heard Sandy hurry out behind her. This is why I needed to fucking lose weight and get out of that fucking community!
“Ada!” Sandy called once, but when she turned to look, Sandy was hustling in the opposite direction into a forested area.
“Fuck, fuck,” Ada cursed under her breath, bursting into the main house, surprising the guest couple and Cassie, apparently in the middle of a tea consultation. The guests were wide-eyed, and Cassie looked sharply at Ada before getting up to meet her in the foyer, grasping her arm tightly.
“What’s wrong? Are you all right?” she asked, then under her breath whispered, “what the fuck, Ada?”
“I’m so sorry,” Ada said, starting to cry. “I’m so sorry to interrupt, Cassie. Look, someone was just in my cabin-”
“What!” Cassie exclaimed.
“I don’t know how they found this place, they didn’t have a car or anything that I saw -” Ada was full-on sobbing now.
“Okay, okay. I’m calling Ethan. And the police. We’ll keep everyone safe,” Cassie said, turning to address the two guests, the older of which had their hands over their open mouth in shock, looking at their girlfriend.
***
Ada sat at the main house’s kitchen table, eyes red and sore from crying. Her hands were around a different mug — the main house had actual ceramic mugs, beautiful things made custom. But it was the same tea, “just with some chamomile and lavender added in, for calming hysterics,” Cassie had said sharply before she left to see the guest couple off with Ethan. She was feeling pretty numb and strange, but it had been a numb and strange afternoon. They were checking out early. Ada heard the doors of the truck close and Cassie came back into the kitchen, glaring at Ada.
“I’m sorry,” Ada croaked. Cassie shook her head.
“We’re going to have to refund them at least half of their deposit, Ada. Fucking twenty. Thousand. Dollars. That was going to pay for the acreage expansion. You couldn’t keep your emotions under fucking control, and play it cool when some weirdo old stalker of yours shows up? What the fuck?” Cassie rubbed her face with her hands, groaning. Ada couldn’t do more than stare.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “When I was doxxed before, someone came to my apartment, and left-” She couldn’t finish the sentence. It hurt too much to remember.
“Yeah, well, you kind of asked for that, didn’t you?” Cassie said matter-of-factly. “You were parading on the internet showing off how huge you were.” She paused, eyes glittering down at Ada, arms crossed. “And now look at you. Months of fasting and specialty herbs, and pretty much no change at all in how fucking fat you are. Remarkable.”
Ada squinted. Something was going on with her body. It felt…heavy. She looked up at Cassie, still squinting, confused. It seemed like she was suddenly much closer to the table, looking up at Cassie, who stared down at her, though with a change. The anger was gone. She looked…admiringly down at Ada. Proud.
“What,” Ada barely whispered.
“We don’t really fucking know much about human metabolism,” Cassie said, sounding resigned. “Restriction just triggers the body into reserving everything it can. It makes most people fatter because they’re just desperate to eat, and the stress only makes it all worse. But people will eat anything when they’re desperate. Even if it’s just herbs. Works just like it does for pigs and bees. Only provide one thing and their meat and honey will have a truly remarkable single-origin flavor.” Cassie leaned down now, caressing Ada’s head as it lay down on the table, on her arm. Ada’s vision was fuzzy. Her body was stone. But her eyes were still moving, and she could look at Cassie.
“You know all that, babe. You found it out on your fucking Insta. But it’s not enough to erase the pain of a dedicated onslaught of trolls, is it? Hurts too much.” She stroked Ada’s hair. “People will believe anything when it comes to the desperation of wanting to be acceptable. Not even beautiful. Just smaller than fucking average.”
Ada’s eyes closed, and time suspended. She wasn’t sure how long she was out, but it must have been long enough for Ethan to get back from driving the guests to the little airport at the end of the valley. She heard him and Cassie speaking as she started to come back out of numb darkness.
“I haven’t even finished aging the last one,” Ethan was complaining, sounding whiny. “I don’t have room for another special project of yours right now.” Cassie groaned in exasperation.
“Well, we don’t have time to push it out any longer, so you’re going to have to make room,” Cassie said firmly.
“I guess I could take some of the last batch out of the freezer and make some cotto,” Ethan said thoughtfully. “I’ve been wanting to try that.” She heard Cassie snort.
“You would,” she muttered. “Sure, whatever. Not sure the bouquet of the last batch suit that, but we can try it.” Ada’s eyes squinted open. Everything seemed much too bright. She wasn’t sideways with her head on the table anymore, though. Her arms were behind her, she thought, bound tightly, as were her feet, crossed at the ankle. She was outside, on a wooden sawhorse table. They were near a storage lean-to that normally housed one of the tractors. She couldn’t move.
“We’ve got to get a bigger freezer for the special projects,” Ethan was saying as he put wood on a fire underneath a long, silver tub, already scorched on the bottom. There was water in the tub just started to let off little curls of steam.
“Yeah, well, I’m doing what I can,” Cassie muttered. The older woman leaned down to pat Ada’s cheek. “She’s waking up. Time to dose.” Ethan came over and hauled Ada up to a sitting position, holding up her head and her jaw open as Cassie pulled out a tiny tincture bottle and dribbled something into Ada’s mouth. She couldn’t really taste it, but something like a ghost of sourness was at the back of her throat. “Swallow, honey,” Cassie said, holding Ada’s mouth closed and stroking her throat for a moment like you would to help a dog swallow a pill.
When she was satisfied with Ada’s apparent swallowing, Ethan laid her back down on the table. She wasn’t sure how much time passed. She looked up at the dusty, cobwebbed ceiling of the lean-to’s rafters. Whatever had knocked her out was wearing off, but the numbness lingered uncomfortably, and whatever the tincture was started to kick in. It made Ada feel…calm. Cassie and Ethan seemed to just be waiting. For what, she wasn’t sure exactly. When the water started to boil, Ethan slapped his knees and stood up from the stool he’d been sitting on.
“Okay. Should be showtime,” he said, and came over to peer down at Ada. “Ada, are you awake?”
“Yes,” she slurred slowly, faintly. She looked at Cassie. Did she love Cassie? Probably not, she decided. Cassie sure had said a lot of weird things. Her mind buzzed dully. Cassie smiled down at her.
“Alright honey. It’s time.” Ada saw Ethan move some kind of beam into place with a pulley system attached. A large rope came down, unwinding from the pulley system with little clicks. He did something down at her feet. She realized after he started winding up the winch that the pulley system was slowly starting to hang her upside down, away from the table. Cassie held her head firmly to keep it from bumping and scraping against the table, and to keep her airway clear as she slowly went upside down.
Once she was there, Ethan put a Tupperware container underneath her head, and Cassie added vinegar to the container.
“Aw, man, czernina again?” Ethan griped. “Was hoping we could do some pudding this time.” Cassie grunted, seemingly ignoring it. Ada was having a strange, out-of-body experience. She was looking at everything upside down, but imagining she could see herself hanging there over a Tupperware container. She saw Ethan grab a knife off the sawhorse table, and her drug-addled mind knew in a flash: they were preparing her like pork. They’d cut her throat, collecting the blood and letting her body drain. They’d scald her body in the hot water tank, scrape off the outer layer of skin and body hair. Then they’d remove her innards, cover her in a tarp, and let her age.
They were going to butcher her like a pig.
Ada felt laughter bubbling inside of her.
Fucking Sandy! They were right.
