Meat and Potatoes

Feast or famine, there’s something in the basement of the orphange and Andrea wants to know what.

NOTE: This story contains potentially distressing, disturbing or triggering content. Please see here for more details.

“I don’t want to eat it.” The small voice, plaintive and weak, drifted through the pipes, drawn ever upwards by the pull of many listening ears. Who is it? was the question unspoken; the light of dawn would illuminate who was missing. But until then, only one dorm knew who owned the voice, bundled up in shadows and carried far below, where the rats gnawed on the pipes and some mysterious, terrible dish awaited. 

“Be good, now,” came a different voice, muffled and twisted by its journey up the plumbing. The iron of the pipes stripped away the customary warmth of goody Fran’s voice, left only the words, bare and stark as bones. But they knew it was her; how often did they hear those same words dripping from thick pink lips to salve stinging lashes and soothe hot tears?

“Ungrateful brat. Do as you’re told.” As hard as stone, goody Dreach’s voice was likewise bereft of warmth, although this was simply due to the fact of her nature rather than an artifice of the situation. Her lips, equally plump and pink as goody Fran’s, hid razor teeth and a sharper tongue, which bit just as deep as her corded knout. Upstairs, although safely separated by distance and the nighttime shadows, they still flinched from her words, even as they strained to hear what came next. 

Soft whimpering and wet choking noises echoed hollowly in the darkness; no answers would be forthcoming tonight, either.

Fingers curled in thin blankets, Andrea wondered what might possibly be down in the basement. It was a question they all shared, though none dared voice it. The matrons were always listening, and if those few chosen to go down came back with fuller bellies and fingermarks dark on sallow skin, then what pain would be inflicted on those who dared to inquire? To question? No good would come of it, and so it remained a fearful, alluring mystery that set eyes aglow with curiosity in those who had not experienced it. Andrea knew that if she was chosen, she wouldn’t refuse the food. Her stomach ached and pained all her waking hours, hardly feeling the thin slurry of their daily rations - extra food, no matter how fetid or foul, would be a welcome respite. She hadn’t even regretted the old vegetable peelings, scrounged from the compost, and those had gotten her truly sick for half a week.

As often accompanied the voices, there was the murmur of another voice. It was deeper, quieter, the words catching on the edge of hearing and slipping away too fast for comprehension. Maybe a woman, maybe a man, maybe the wind creeping through cracks in the cladding to tickle the pipes. It rustled over the organic noises, silky and soft, and gave a pleasant counterpoint to the quiet, all-too-familiar lullaby of sobs that eventually reached up and rocked them all to sleep.

***

Blood oozed from the gash above her eye, painting the terror on Winston’s face in shades of pink and red. It diluted it, and when Andrea had wiped away the ichor she saw only wooden blankness on the boy’s face in the moment before she averted her eyes and dropped her head. Goody Dreach towered over her, brows knit together in a sharp frown, mouth turned down at the edges like a knife. 

Beneath the roar of fear in her ears, she heard Winston’s tiny, choked whimper, felt a stab of hot jealousy pierce her breast and quickly sink to churning guilt in her stomach. How dare he be afraid, when she was the one who asked the question, who was going to be—

Pain sparked across her cheek, slammed the thought from her head and rattled her teeth. Skin tore and ripped as she hit the flagstones then again on her back, her sides as rawhide bit with unseen teeth into her flesh. The dull, wet sound of impact chased starburst pain behind her eyes, familiar enemies cuddled close for warmth in the winter of her barren life and Andrea gritted her teeth. Balled her hands into white knuckled fists tinged bloody red like raw meat. Bit her tongue so hard she tasted the coppery tang of blood. Endured. There would be no answers today; only pain.

Through the haze settling over her mind, she saw goody Fran approach and pull Winston close, run a comforting hand across his face and over his shoulders. Rage, frustrated and ineffectual, blazed back to life in her chest, until the pain tore it apart and swallowed it down into darkness.

***

There was a man, in the orphanage. The words ran through them like a ripple on still water, little crests of excitement and troughs of anxiety following in its wake. Who would he pick? How could they catch his attention? Was he rich? Famous? Undoubtedly kind, they all agreed in silent consensus - who else would come here to look at wretches with an eye to loving them? 

Andrea strained to catch a glimpse of the mysterious man, chancing danger by dallying on her way to toss scraps for the pigs. She wondered where the scraps came from, what they had been part of in their pre-waste lives. Surely not part of their food, for wonders like carrots and potatoes didn’t dare pass the orphanage’s threshold, only grey watery porridge and old bread. Still, as Andrea hooked finger tips over the fence and craned her neck, ears pricked for the sounds of admonitory footsteps, she couldn’t help but imagine rich banquets and a loving family. If only she could catch this person’s eye she might see more than the discarded remnants of unwanted food. But the man wasn’t standing on the other side of the fence, waiting to usher her into her destiny.

***

Her stomach gnawed relentlessly at her insides, as though it hoped to consume her other organs and gain what meagre sustenance they might provide. Moonlight slipped through the cracks in the shutters, wobbling as the wind rattled the wooden slats and knocked the weathervane atop the attic into frantic shrieking circles. Over the whine of metal and the noisome house settling its old bones, Andrea’s footsteps were silent as a ghost’s. A single hand, thin and sickly in the grey light, grasped at her wrist as she passed a bed. Beneath the tangle of thin sheets and thinner limbs, wide eyes watched her. They grew wider still, beseeching her, but although the lips below formed the shape of words no pleas sounded. Silence was the only way to survive the night. Silence was obedience.

She knew where they kept the food, the goodies gathering it up in wide, flesh-heavy arms and shoving it between smacking fat lips after they served the children their fare. Her ribs still ached, the gashes still not fully healed after the shocked gasp slipped between her lips and betrayed her, but tonight the hunger ached more powerfully still. She could do it.

Splinters caught in bare toes, dug into skin and wormed towards bone. A board creaked beneath unexpected weight. Freeze. Heart hammering, Andrea waited for the outcry, but there was only a rat, sitting at the far end of the corridor. It met her gaze with beady eyes, sizing her up as a potential morsel before deciding she was hardly worth the effort and skittering back into shadow.

Warm light spilled beneath the door to the goodies’ room. Dreading every moment that the door would swing open, that the lash would catch her across the head or the back with sharp claws and stinging pain, Andrea inched her way across the hall. A familiar whimper made her pause.

Curiosity seized her in its ravening jaws, caught her up and carried her on silent footsteps towards the light. Winston had bragged that his ninth birthday was yesterday, as though remembering enough of your past to know your birthday was a blessing rather than a lump of useless knowledge in this place, but Andrea had still been a little jealous. Part of her wished her parents had cared enough to burden her with that pain. And maybe knowing your birthday had other privileges. Maybe she should make one up. She was about the same age as Winston, after all.

Shaking fingers curled around the doorframe, and she pressed her face hard up against the mildewed wood so that the smell of rot filled her nostrils. Through the gap between door and wall, Andrea saw light. Tears streaming down Winston’s face as he turned away, eyes screwed shut. Goody Fran licking thick lips, hands clasping Winston’s shoulders as she bent towards him. Wet noises, sucking and sobbing. The curve of goody Dreach’s back and head half-hidden by the bed and Winston’s legs as she knelt on the floor. Pink lips drawn back hungrily, a red tongue writhing wormlike to lick tears away, plunge into a crying mouth.

Her traitorous gasp was lost, swallowed by the light, and Andrea crept back to bed and tried to ignore her belly’s relentless pangs.

***

There were no tears when Tamara left, for between them there were no more tears left in the whole wide world. Even the very small children were stoic and still, crying being frowned upon by the goodies. And where a frown fell, the knout was close behind, whistling a cheery tune to itself as small bodies cringed away.

So it was that Andrea was among a grimy sea of gritty eyes and strained smiles as Tamara shuffled nervously after the heavily perfumed lady in sweeping skirts. Like an angel, there to deliver those who had stayed so long that they began to bud and blossom despite the harsh confines, she was familiar enough to those who had been there more than a little while. Andrea knew her, admiring her from afar. Gentle, soft, scented like heaven and, above all else, free from goody Dreach. 

With a glance down at herself, as though she might suddenly sprout the requisite assets if only she hoped hard enough, Andrea bit back a sigh and fixed her false smile more firmly in place. It was hard to be truly happy for Tamara when she herself remained stuck in this place, but the least she could do was smile.

***

Andrea’s heart thrilled, nervous flutters mimicking the imagined whispers of the other children when the goodies stopped her after dinner. It was all she could do to hold down the paltry meal as the others filed out one by one, footsteps echoing dully up the stairs and anticipation built in her chest. Her heart squeezed her lungs until she felt she might pass out, but Andrea refused to faint. She wouldn’t miss this chance because she had done something as asinine as lose consciousness.

At long last, sitting on the hard wooden stool in near total darkness, Andrea heard the basement door open. It groaned and moaned like a living thing, and for a moment she entertained the horrific idea that she might be the meal and the basement merely a facade for some fell beast. But no, she had seen the others return after their trips downstairs, and so she put the thought from her head and waited.

Waited.

A hand on her shoulder made her jump, but it was only goody Dreach leering down at her through the half-darkness. A lantern, shuttered, burned behind her in goody Fran’s hand, casting just enough light to darken the shadows. Andrea followed them down into the dark.

Bright light greeted her at the foot of the stairs, a room so bright and white it seemed impossible that it could exist so close to the squalor of the orphanage. Surely there should be more than a simple set of stairs separating such disparate places. Although there was still a slightly rancid, sweaty stink to the air, even here - perhaps they weren’t quite so different as they appeared.

As her eyes adjusted, Andrea scanned the room excitedly. She knew there was food down here, but the wooden desk set a little off to the side of the room was bare. Thick and heavy in its construction, she estimated it could probably hold two whole pigs, or a whole twenty-three course feast if only they would set the food out for her. Nothing much else in the room interested her; a bed made in the same sturdy, rough fashion as the table and a twisted tangle of ropes and linen piled next to that on the wall opposite the desk. A few chairs. Another door, directly ahead of them.

Two hands rested on her shoulders, and Andrea’s head swung up to look from goody Fran’s face to goody Dreach’s. Goody Fran smiled down at her, and for a moment Andrea was reminded of those sucking, bloated lips seen half-muddled with hunger and tiredness. But then both goodies looked ahead, and Andrea followed their gaze to realise she had missed the entrance of a man.

He had come in through the other door, his bare flesh jiggling in a way that seemed to Andrea most unnatural. She had seen people naked before, but with skin drawn tight to bones and hollow staring eyes. This man’s eyes glittered in the light.

He smiled, drawing thin lips tight over perfectly straight teeth.

“Hello, Andrea. Why don’t you open your mouth, and I’ll give you a special treat.” Movement drew her eye downwards, where he jiggled and shook beneath the movement of his own hand. Andrea glanced up, terrified to have been caught looking at his private areas, but he just smiled kindly at her. The movements continued unabated. “Just open wide like a good girl, and you can have a taste of my sausage. No biting now, though.”

And he laughed and winked at her, as though they shared a secret. Andrea swallowed, tried to take a step back but found herself held fast by the two goodies standing unmoving behind her. She shook her head blindly, tears beginning to blur her vision as she forced words out through a throat tight with revulsion.

“I don’t want to eat it.”