All the Food Groups
Kenneth James Crist
Mindy
Sutton wiped the countertop in her spotless, gleaming kitchen as the disposal
took down the last of the garbage. The dishes were in the dishwasher, and she
was about ready to move to the family room and watch Seinfeld with her
husband Rod and the kids. She looked around at her tidy kitchen. Even though
their building was old, it was neat and everything in her kitchen shone with
the loving care she gave it.
As
soon as the disposal was clear, she shut off the water and put up her sponge.
She took off her apron and hung it on the peg by the microwave. Just as she
reached for the light switch, there was a rude belching sound from the sink.
She turned and looked at it for a moment, not sure of what she had heard. Then
she said, "Well, excuse you!" Smiling, she went out to join her
family.
*
* *
“Rod,
the sink’s makin’ that noise again!” Mindy called from the kitchen.
“Okay,
hon, I’ll look at it tomorrow.” Damn, I
hate screwin’ with plumbing! he thought. He’d already had the disposal
apart twice and he’d found nothing wrong. Nothing that would account for the
strange noises that Mindy kept claiming to hear. He hadn’t heard anything
himself, but she spent more time in the kitchen than he did. He didn’t doubt
she was hearing something, but he’d be damned if he’d pay a plumber to come
check for noises. That would be like giving them his checkbook and whimpering, “Don’t
hurt me!”
*
* *
Mindy
was in the kitchen, making toast. Her mind was a million miles away, doing her
grocery list, thinking about the kids' fall clothes, and her art classes at the
free university. The sink noise startled her when it began and within seconds,
she found herself standing with her back to the stove, facing across the
kitchen, staring in disbelief at the sink. This morning the sound was that of a
stomach growling, a low, almost articulated, hungry sound that continued for a
few seconds before it finally became still. She continued to stare for a few
moments, then she reached for the hanger-thing and broke off a banana. She
dropped it into the disposal and hit the switch, grinding it to pulp and
sending it down the drain, along with some water to wash it down. She turned
the water off and waited. Presently, there was the now-familiar belching sound.
After that, there was a satisfied sigh. Mindy turned and ran from the kitchen.
*
* *
"I
couldn't find a thing wrong," the plumber said, wiping his hands on a shop
towel, "but these drains are old and they're apt to make strange noises
once in a while. I wouldn't worry if I was you."
Mindy
had given up on trying to get Rod to do anything and called the plumber
herself. Of course, this meant she'd have to pay for the service call out of
her housekeeping money. Rod wouldn't want to dip into his beer money or bowling
funds or anything else that was important to him. She shook her head as she
wrote the check. Eighty-four bucks. Unbelievable.
Last
week she had heard chewing sounds and more belching and sighs. It sounded like
there was an army of little gourmets living down there in the drains, enjoying
whatever she sent them without complaint. Well, except when they didn't get
fed. Then that stomach-sound would start again.
*
* *
Mindy
lay across her bed, crying silently into her pillow. She didn't want the boys
to know anything was wrong. Rod had seen the plumber's truck leaving and had
stormed into their apartment and demanded to see her checkbook. When he saw
what she had spent, he'd come after her with his fists. It wasn't the first
time, of course, but usually it only happened when he wasn't able to have sex,
or when she "forgot herself" and talked back to him. He'd never hit
her over money. Until today.
After
she ran out of tears, she went to the kitchen to start supper. No use getting
hit again because his supper was late. That was the first time the things in
the drain talked to her.
As
the whispering started, she was bending over the sink, peeling potatoes, and
she almost shrieked, but she caught herself in time.
"Huuuungrreee!"
the voices said.
Mindy
felt the blood drain out of her face and she grabbed the edge of the sink,
certain she was about to faint. I'm going
crazy. I'm hearing voices, she thought.
"Need
meeet! Meeet!" the voices whispered.
Nobody
else was near the kitchen, and Mindy quickly leaned down near the drain and
whispered, "Who are you?"
"Meeeet!
Huungree!" Then the stomach sounds began, gradually getting louder.
Now
Mindy was worried that someone might come in and hear the voices. Almost as
much as she was worried that they might come in and not hear them. She quickly
grabbed a fistful of expensive ground
chuck and dumped it down the disposal and hit the switch, then retreated across
the kitchen to stand shaking and sweating as the chewing and slurping sounds
issued from the drain, then gradually subsided.
When
all was still, she went back to preparing supper and in a few moments, she
heard the things in the drain say, "Guuuuud. Thaaang you!"
Mindy
thought about all of the food that she routinely sent down the disposal. It was
a pretty good representation of all of the food groups, when she thought about
it.
She
shuddered as she continued peeling potatoes.
*
* *
Over
the next three weeks, the things in the drain became more vocal and more
hungry. Mindy was feeding them regularly now, just to keep them quiet and it
was taking more food all the time. She was glad she and the kids were going to
her mother's for a week. It would get her away from the strain of dealing with
the unknown, and it would get her away from Rod. He had beaten her again last
night. She would never understand why his inability to perform in bed somehow
was her fault and rated a beating.
In
the back of her mind, there was a glimmer of an idea, a thin sliver of hope,
but she would not allow herself to think of it directly. To do so would be like
staring straight into the sun. She would take the kids and go to Mom's, just as
she did every year, and hope for the best. Let nature take its course, so to
speak. Unless the things weren't a part of nature. . . .
*
* *
Mindy
arrived home a week to the day after she left and entered the apartment. She
stood just inside the door and listened, but all she heard was the normal
sounds of the clock on the stove and the air conditioner in the living room
window.
She
had left the kids down the hall with a neighbor while she checked the
apartment.
"Rod?"
she called. No answer. He might be out, but she didn't think so. She'd
repeatedly called all week, and he'd never answered her calls. She'd also
called his job, and they hadn't seen him.
She
stepped lightly into the kitchen, turning on the overhead fluorescent lights
and then she froze, staring. There was a single shoe on the floor in front of
the sink. As she took a step closer, she saw some blood, dried on the counter.
Not much, just a little. There was a shred of white T-shirt sticking up out of
the drain and she removed it without even thinking about it, balling the scrap
and tossing it into the trash.
She
checked the rest of the apartment, then she picked up the phone and dialed the
police.
*
* *
Rod
was officially listed as a missing person. Among themselves, the police
considered his disappearance to be suspicious, but the only evidence they had
was a little blood near the kitchen sink and it was not enough to be alarming.
Over the next few months, they would watch the wife and see if there was any
unusual activity with bank accounts or insurance companies.
*
* *
Mindy's
life took an abrupt turn for the better during the next month. She had to get a
job, of course, but that was something she'd been wanting for some time. She
found work in the local library and settled in nicely. When she had a few
months on the job, she planned to get a nicer car. Maybe someday she might even
consider getting married again, after the seven-year waiting period was up and
she could have Rod declared dead by a court. Things were definitely looking up.
*
* *
At
about one o'clock in the morning, Mindy's oldest boy got up and went to the
kitchen for a drink of water. Mindy heard the screams as she came up out of the
soundest sleep she'd had in months. Her heart stopped, then staggered in her
chest as she scrambled from her bed and ran to the kitchen. She was not in time
to see her son disappear down the drain. All she saw was the toes of his foot
sticking out, then there was an abrupt jerk and they, too, disappeared. As she
leaned over the sink, screaming her son's name, she heard a whisper from the drain.
"Meat."
It said.
Published in Monster Mush, issue #2, 1999, as “Food Groups”
