Voracious Desires

TW: This is a graphic story for mature audiences only. It will touch on dark and somewhat out-there topics with a blanket of dry humor. Think of it as Lovecraft Country meets Jennifer’s Body. I hope it terrifies and tickles your funny bone. Thank you for reading!

“Welcome to Funky Chicken. How may I funkin’ help you?”

The bored-faced clerk leisurely chews gum, drumming long black nails against the pepto-bismol-colored counter.

Trust me, girl. I don’t want to be here either.

“Um... I have a Speedy Door pick up for John Smith.” I glance down at the phone in my hand to confirm.

The clerk raises an eyebrow, eyeing me intently. “Wow... I didn’t know he liked dark meat,” she mutters, turning to the dark kitchen of the empty fast-food restaurant.

Okay.

Assuming she is off to fetch John’s food, I stand awkwardly, fiddling with my late grandmother’s gold cross necklace, suddenly feeling warm against my skin.

Taking in my surrounding of harsh mustard yellow and pepto pink covered walls clashing with dingy lime green shag carpeting on the floor of the dining area. Rusted metal tables and chairs are haphazardly throughout the eerie liminal space. Large, dirty, stained-glass windows wrap around the building with pictures of chickens dancing and eating fried drummettes. A dusty old TV in the room’s far corner broadcasts fuzzy news images. At the entrance, a massive painted mural of the Funky Chicken mascot with doors where its beak should be. Fluorescent lights flickering above its head make the bird appear malevolent as it glares down at me.

I gulp nervously.

Loud, jarring feedback rattles the TV, kicking up the volume of the news broadcast.

“Governor Dandy presented Wicked Thicket’s own Doug Crawley with a Palmetto Humanitarian Award today for his philanthropic efforts. He established twenty additional Crawley Care Centers in months, totaling a hundred habitats that have provided miraculous aid in lower-income communities for over eighty years—all free. Here’s a clip of his speech!”

It switched to a fuzzy shot of a gorgeous botanical garden only found in the suburbs of Eden. Doug approaches the podium, looking like he is running for office in his deep navy suit. A red, white, and blue handkerchief is tucked neatly in his front pocket. His golden locks expertly gelled back, and a perfect smile is on his face.

“Wow!” Doug places a hand over his heart. The crowd hoots and claps as he continues to deliver his speech.

“Thank you, everyone. I’m truly honored. First, I give all glory to the big guy in the clouds...”

A nerve-racking thunderclap startles the group.

Doug chuckles.

“Anyway, I had a speech typed up thanking everyone and plugging my new action movie, Guns And Gore, coming out on Halloween. But since it will rain soon, do y’all mind if I keep it real with ya?”

Doug grabs the crystal coned-shaped award and glares at it dramatically.

“I cannot accept this reward...” People in the crowd gasp before going eerily silent. “I’m unworthy of this merit. I am just a regular guy privileged to play characters on the big screen and live comfortably in multi-million dollar homes, drive my pricey exotic cars, and dine in expensive restaurants. At the same time, so many suffer from microaggression, poverty, and hunger.

My greatest honor comes from helping others, not your unwavering support. So, I dedicate this award to courageous people doing their best. I see you and want to help you fulfill your life’s purpose. If you need help, please visit the nearest Crawley Care Center. My team and I can’t wait to see you.”He ends his speech graciously, and the crowd gives him a standing ovation.

Golden Boy, Doug Crawley, is the picture-perfect image of the American dream. But as quiet as it’s kept, most celebrities and leaders come from wealthy families. Allowing them access to spaces I couldn’t even imagine. I know he wouldn’t be where he is if it wasn’t for money. But I wouldn’t dare let any of his rabid followers hear my thoughts, especially living in his hometown of Wicked Thicket, SC. The majority of people here practically worship him. In their eyes, he’s bigger and better than Jesus.

I’m in the minority.

Emphasis on minority.

America has a long, sordid history of treating people of color horribly. Specifically, the South’s abhorrent reputation was arguably another circle of Hell. Being a black woman born and raised in the South, you learn very quickly how the world views you. Eventually, you adapt to survive, and through survival, blooms thrive, which turns into prosperity.

Over a hundred years ago, angry slavers gave harsh, barren land to the freed slaves as punishment for the government abolishing slavery. The ex-slaves, in turn, transformed the acres of barren land into lush, beautiful farmland. They provided the best crops in the state of South Carolina. Then, The Great Fire happened, destroying acres of farmland and killing thousands of Indigenous, Black, and Hispanic people.

A dry thicket had spontaneously burst into flames during one the hottest summers in history. The tragedy ruled an accident that took months to extinguish, displacing the few families who survived. Many years later, The Crawleys bought the land repurposed into the super pricey subdivision now known as Eden.

There are rumors that Doug’s family had something to do with the tragedy, but there is no proof. And the remaining families affected by the incident took decades to rebuild. The Crawleys saw an opportunity to exploit- I mean help by throwing their wealth around and building what they call Crawley Care Centers. Soon, that nasty rumor vanished, and The Crawleys turned from greedy, racist murderers to the most beloved family in the world.

“Here ya go.”

I jump, startled to see the clerk has returned with six large bags of food on the counter.

“Um, can I get some help with these?”

The clerk rolls her eyes. “I’m sorry, but unfortunately, I’m the only one working tonight and need to help the next customer.”

“What customer? I’m the only one here–”

I turn to see a tall, gaunt, pale-faced man behind me. He is wearing a dark trench coat and a wide-brim hat, hiding all his features but a deep frown. He growls impatiently, bending his head toward me.

Not wasting another minute in this creepy place, I struggle, looping each heavy bag evenly around my arms, hurrying to get out of the strange man’s way.

With all my strength, I carry all six bags, approaching the mouth of the hellish chicken, following me with those eyes. The bell above the door chimes as I make a strained, hurried exit.

Why didn’t that go off earlier?

“Be safe and have a funkin’ great night!” The clerk chuckles.

My arms give out just as I make it to my car. Luckily, the food was secure, so I loaded everything up and headed to my destination.

It’s another Friday night in my small town of Wicked Thicket. We’re rich in pride but poor in funds, especially after the Great Fire. Many claim to come from money, but very few do. I don’t pretend; I’m too broke for that. Life is hard enough without faking it. Who am I to judge others? I’m nobody; I only care about getting good tips.

As I turn onto the main road, country music blares from Bubba’s food truck. The tangy smell of smoked meat wafts into my car, making my stomach growl.

I can’t remember the last time I had a BBQ sandwich from Bubba or a decent home-cooked meal. I only buy the bare necessities, which helps me save money, but I’m still miserable. Money motivates me to get up every morning as I deliver food all day, serve drinks at night, and manage the laundromat during the third shift. By the time I get home, I’m exhausted despite having cash in my pockets. I pay off one expense, and five more arise. If I don’t pay, I face penalties. The odds are against people like me.

In this world, money is essential. It provides food, water, and shelter and can significantly improve or reduce a person’s quality of life. People risk their lives daily for money, whether out of necessity or greed. Money truly is everything; without it, life becomes nearly impossible.

Men with big smiles and even bigger cases of beer animatedly discuss their weekend plans outside a convenience store. Good ole boys revving up their fancy trucks, winking and waving through the window of Mimi’s Salon across the street as ladies pamper themselves.

Hyper energy pours into the air as people gear up to release steam from a mundane or grueling work week in Wicked Thicket. My palms itch with anticipation. The Red Velvet will be busy tonight. Hopefully, I’ll make enough tips to take a day off on Sunday. I need one. My heart warms at having a day to do what I want without worries or cares as long as no emergencies pop up.

I have six minutes until I reach my destination. The route is unusual, but John’s sixty-dollar tip is hard to resist. He’s likely hosting a party at one of the plantation rentals on the outskirts of Wicked. I wonder why he chose food from The Funky Chicken, but that’s not my concern. He isn’t from around here; everyone knows to stay away from that place due to its questionable reputation. I’ve heard plenty of wild stories about it and other spots to avoid. But I’ll deliver anywhere if it means getting paid.

A beeping sound echoes from the dashboard as a flashing yellow engine light alerts me. My 2008 Kia Rio, Cherry, jolts while the temperature gauge climbs into the red.

“No, no, no, no! Please, not now.”

Frantic, I pull over on the side of the road, and the smell of rubber fills the inside of the car. I get out, touch the hood, and instantly regret it.

“Fudge! That’s hot.” I curse, caressing my burned hand.

I realize this will be an expensive fix. I’ve been putting off taking Cherry to the mechanic since Grampy used to handle her maintenance. I thought if I kept her fueled and the tires in good shape, she’d be fine until I paid off the lien on his land.

I groan, get back inside my car, and anxiously fiddle with Grammy’s gold cross necklace.

The only mechanic shop in Wicked is closed. I still need to go to my second job, and there’s no way I can complete this delivery, which is frustrating because I could have used the money.

“Double fudge!” I groan, slamming my head against the steering wheel. My phone pings, notifying me of a stream of text messages.

Unknown Encrypted Number: Howdy!

Unknown Encrypted Number: This is John

Unknown Encrypted Number: Everything okay? I was tracking my order and noticed you've stopped.

I sigh, wondering if I should reply. Grammy used to say honesty is the best policy, so I decided to tell the truth. There’s nothing I can do about it anyway.

Me: Hi, John. I'm sorry for the delay.

Me: I'm having some car troubles

I began to text him the unfortunate news about his order when he sent another string of messages.

Unknown Encrypted Number: Aww

Unknown Encrypted Number: That's too bad, darlin'

Unknown Encrypted Number: I REALLY need my food.

Unknown Encrypted Number: Can anyone else help get it here in the next 6 minutes? I'll pay you both handsomely for the trouble and cover your vehicle's repairs. Just name your price.

My eye twitches at John’s last message. He’s willing to cover Cherry’s repair costs and more. All I have to do is figure out how to deliver his food without a car in the next six minutes.

I started to order a rideshare, but due to my location, it’ll take a car at least forty-five minutes to get here. I called my best friend Jasmine to see if she could help, but the call went to voicemail.

“Ugh!” I toss my phone into the passenger seat.

Maybe I could walk to his house.

But I remember how heavy the bags were. I can only carry them a few feet from the restaurant. There’s no way I can manage the entire trek.

“Come on, Genesis! Think!”

An almost long-forgotten memory bubbles to the surface of my thoughts: Grampy’s tips on emergency car maintenance. I need to cool down Cherry’s engine. I don’t have any antifreeze, but I always keep a case of water in my car for such events.

I rush to the trunk of my car and pull out three bottles of water and a rag. With the rag, I pop the hood and pour water into the empty coolant valve before replacing it. Once I start Cherry, that check engine light returns to life, but the temperature gauge reads slightly lower than before. However, what I’m about to do is still hazardous.

I texted John the updates, and he was thrilled.

I pray to whoever is listening that my car stays in one piece as I venture further into the backwoods.

<<<>>>

My car crawls to a stop in an eerily quiet neighborhood I never knew existed. A picture of John’s broken-down two-story home with an ominous red porch light pops up on the phone’s screen, saying I’ve reached my destination.

“That can’t be right.” A heaviness fills my chest, looking out of my car window.

John paid over six hundred dollars for food to be delivered here.

I expected to see a lavish five-bedroom plantation house like the ones in Eden, but instead, I found only dilapidated remains along the dirt road. A flickering lamppost added just a hint of light to the foggy October evening.

I had only seen a neighborhood like this in my grade school textbooks. The similarities are undeniable; this place resembles an area devastated by The Great Fire, yet it seems more recent. This place isn’t Eden or anywhere near Grampy’s land. What happened here? Does anyone else know about this place?

A strange chill runs through my body as I nervously play with my necklace. It feels as if the chain has only grown warmer since I arrived.

On Grammy’s deathbed, she insisted I wear it for protection. I hope it helps as I make yet another wrong choice despite knowing I should turn back.

I got out of the car.

I better not get kidnapped, murdered, or worse, pranked!

I strain myself, carrying all six bags in my arms. I refuse to go back to my car for a second trip. This delivery is a one-and-done mission. The sooner I deliver this food and get my money, the better.

A heaviness presses against my chest, and I snap a photo to prove I did my job. I politely knock on the door, causing it to open naturally with a loud creaking sound from rusted hinges.

I peek inside, noting the pitch-black space as a ghastly smell leaks from the opening. There’s no way anybody lives here.

Dreadfully, I realize that John tricked me. I’m not getting any money, and I’ve put myself in another terrible position by trusting someone’s word.

“Fudgin’ butthole,” I grumble, turning away to send John an angry message.

Suddenly, two bloody clawed hands grab my arms, yanking me past the threshold. A thick, dark void swallows me. I scream, trying to break free as the door slams shut, shaking the whole house.

I kick wildly, lunging the weight of my body from the death grip around my arms as that horrid rank smell attacks my senses. Grime rubs off on me from objects I can’t see. My lower back slams against the edge of what feels like steps. The wood buns and rubs my skin raw with each unforgiving pull up the long staircase.

“Help! Please, somebody, help me!” I catch dim lights from a room as I fight whoever pulls me into a hallway. The minimal light reveals a horrific glimpse of my captor’s face.

Two unnaturally large blank eyes stare down at me as it slowly swipes a salivating serpent-like tongue across its lips, spreading into an eerie, unsettling smile displaying rows of sharp yellow jagged teeth.

“Boo.”

A blood-curdling scream rips out of me as the strange human-like creature slams my body on a dingy mattress on the floor. I scramble to escape, but it subdues me with its weight straddling my body—the shins of its thick, hairy legs pressing my arms firmly down.

“No!” I wail, fighting with everything I have left in me.

The creature smirked, reaching for my throat, but it recoiled as steam wisps from my necklace. The monster growled and mumbled something I couldn’t understand. Then, a heavy fist knocked me into darkness.

Meya Kaye:

Whew, How was that first chapter? Be honest.

I have never written something like this, but Genesis’ story won’t leave me alone! I hope I can adequately illustrate the vision. I’m sorry for any grammar issues.

Also, I know that my text dialogue looks as big as Hell. The dimensions get all wonky and don’t match up once it’s published. I spent a time and a half trying to fix it, but I eventually gave up and grabbed a glass of wine. I am open to suggestions on incorporating realistic-looking text on this app. Please drop your suggestions below.

Anyway, thanks for reading!