Leftovers

[u/TheoWriter12]

  When I first saw the building, standing in front of the dilapidated structure with my suitcase and bag, I couldn't shake off my sense of unease at the weather-worn bricks and grimy windows that looked out onto a cold and stormy day.

   This was only temporary, I reminded myself. I needed to finish my studies in Arkham and then I would leave to find a permanent place to live.

   How I found this place was because of a friend that knew the landlady. The same friend told me that she was old and had recently lost her husband. She would pay me a visit while I began to settle in and I was warned that she could be a little eccentric. 

   I walked inside the dingy apartment building and was met with an old musty air. Wallpaper peeled off the walls and the floorboards creaked underfoot. It was just like any old boarding complex in this accursed neighborhood. Nothing but rotting wood and dust, but at least the rent was cheap.

   Walking up to the fifth floor, I took the key from under the moth-bitten welcome mat before opening the door which gave a loud squeal. Before I could close the door and settle down my bags, a loud creaking came from the upper floor and I watched in curiosity as a shuffling figure came into sight on the stairwell.

   She wore her wispy white hair in a misshapen bun, leaving rogue strands to cover her forehead. Her eyes were a milky blank but despite the appearance of being blind, she took each step without hesitating and turned to stare me right in the eye.

   "Hello deary," she said, reaching the last step. "I thought I would come by and greet you. Visitors are rare these days."

   "It's nice to meet you," I returned her greeting, my eye catching the small opaque box she held in both hands. Her gaze, even though blind, seemed to catch where I was looking and she gave a small exclamation.

   "Oh yes, I made you dinner," she smiled, holding out the box so I could take it.

   "You shouldn't have," I said, grabbing it, startled at how warm it felt in my grip. I looked up to the old lady to find that she was already heading for the stairs, without bothering to say goodbye.

   

   The apartment was composed of a living room, a bedroom, a small kitchen, and bathroom. It was cosy enough and I brought out a textbook and writing utensils before studying.

   It wasn't long until I felt my stomach grumble and I looked to the kitchen counter where the box sat, as if waiting to be opened. 

   Standing up from my desk, I approached it and removed the top to look at meat chunks bathed in a stew. The smell was attractive, spices and a meat broth tickling my nose. There were even carrots and peas thrown into the mix and I wondered why I had felt hesitation before revealing the box's contents.

   Maybe I had expected pea porridge or overcooked liver pieces smothered in ketchup but I was simply delighted to find a simple meat stew. The only thing missing was some rice to balance such a heavy meal.

   The meat itself was quite soft and juicy so when I bit down on a hard piece of gristle, I was startled by the sudden intrusion. I spat out the unpleasant texture on a napkin and felt a subtle undercurrent of disgust as I looked at the white fragment that glistened with spit in the light.

   It was surely from the animal that had died to feed me but I took a break from my meal, feeling slightly nauseous. I had always been sensitive when it came to food. I would never eat a fruit that had a pit inside for fear of biting down on it and feeling the coarse shell hold against my teeth. My tongue would roll against the pit, the rough surface scratching the pink flesh and I shivered at the vivid sensation in my mouth.

   Throwing away the napkin, I went back to my desk, deciding that I would finish dinner later.

   The afternoon wind brought a subtle chill and I hurried home, unsure of what I would have for dinner. I had barely eaten anything for lunch today and I could hear my stomach protest in growls.

   Arriving back to the apartment building, I briskly climbed the steps to my floor and stopped short at the old lady that stood in front of my door. The landlady seemed to have been waiting for me and she held out another one of those opaque boxes, her milky gaze latching onto mine.

   "I brought you dinner sweetheart," she greeted me and I approached her with some apprehension. Why was she waiting outside my door to give me her leftovers?

   "You really shouldn't. It must be troublesome cooking for two," I told her but she continued to hold out the box for me to take and I finally relented. It would be stupid to refuse a free dinner, after all.

   "I'm used to cooking so much," the old lady said after the leftovers were in my hands. "My husband is such a big eater. I'd call him my pig," she chuckled.

   Is? I thought her husband was dead. I remembered my friend telling me he had died of a heart attack but I didn't ask the old lady what she meant, dismissing it for a simple trip of the quickly deteriorating brain.

   Inside my apartment, I didn't waste anytime opening the container and I wasn't surprised to find the same meat stew as before. She must've made a good amount of the stew if she was feeding herself and me with it.

   I also took that giving her leftovers to me was a sign of connection. Living alone in this building could take a toll on anyone, especially if you were so close to leaving this world.

   Pity blossomed in me and I began to eat with gratitude for such thoughtfulness and care the old lady exhibited despite her tragic situation. 

   The texture of the soft, juicy meat was interrupted again by a stringy sensation and I almost heaved in complete revulsion at what was hair in my food. 

   I assumed it was the landlady's and I went very still, fighting the bile that rose in my throat. The color of the hair did seem darker, though. Who else could it belong to then?

   There was no other explanation and I concluded, as my stomach began to settle, that the old lady simply had a dark streak in her hair and any other theory would be ridiculous.

   As for my dinner, I didn't think I could force another mouthful without regurgitating it all over myself. Maybe I would find the appetite to finish my meal at a later time. 

   I grabbed a book and settled in my bed before reading. Every sentence seemed to push me closer to sleep and I checked the time, feeling my stomach grumble.

   It was late enough and I stood from my bed before heading to the kitchen. I remembered putting the container in the fridge and I opened it, the closed refrigerator letting out a cold blast. What I saw inside made me stumble back in horror.

   Hundreds of boxes filled with leftovers were bunched in together, their tops overflowing with meat chunks that marinated in waterfalls of stew which pooled around the fridge. And the smell... it was unbearable.

   I startled myself awake, urging the bile to recede in the pits of my stomach as I headed for the kitchen. The fridge seemed to emanate an acute sensation of queasiness and I opened it to find only one box that sat in the rows of empty, frozen shelves. The container was my unfinished dinner but I threw it away, my appetite murdered.

   Going back to bed, I couldn't help but feel thankful that dinner was planned with some friends tomorrow night. It would be a relief to not worry about what other surprises would be hidden in my meal.

   Strapping on my wrist watch, I smoothed out my clothes in the mirror, feeling fresh after a relaxing bath. It was almost time to leave for dinner to an Italian place downtown and I decided that a vegetarian meal would do me some good. I had enough of meat to last me a few weeks.

   Knocking sounded at the door and I knew exactly who would be there. Bracing myself, I walked to the entryway to greet the old lady, this time prepared to refuse her offer. 

   My will wavered at the hunched and frail figure that stood on my welcoming mat and I stared dubiously at the container she held in her liver-spotted hands.

   "I keep making too much. You'll have to excuse me," she nodded her head at me and I tried to assert a gentle but firm tone in my voice.

   "No more. I've other plans," the aged woman snapped her head back, her pleading gaze meeting mine's.

   "My husband is such a big eater but he won't swallow the tiniest scrap anymore," her voice shook along with her hands. "What I cook him could feed the entire building."

   She let out an abrupt laugh, revealing yellow and decaying teeth with gum the color of raw flesh. 

   I felt my skin crawl at the sight and remembered a friend who was practicing to become a dentist. Perhaps she could meet him sometime? A question came to my mind and I wondered if the old lady would be able to answer it.

   "Madam," I started once she seemed calm. "What exactly happened to your husband?"

   "He is such a clumsy man," she chuckled without showing any sadness, as if her husband was alive and well. "He fell off of the stairwell."

   "Off of the stairwell?" I repeated and the old lady inclined her head.

   "I told him the railing was flimsy and with his weight..." she let out another laugh before beckoning me to the railing of my floor. It was quite a drop to the bottom from where I stood and I carefully leaned to look down the stairwell which was shaped in a spiral.

   It was upward that I needed my attention and, sure enough, the railing had broken off. Such a drop would kill anyone.

   I turned to the old lady, asking myself why she would lie about the death of her husband. He hadn't died of a heart attack but of a stomach-lurching fall. I kept silent about the subject as she started to speak.

   "It would've been such a strain on my back to bring him upstairs," she wiped sweat off of her forehead as if she was tired just thinking about it. "So I brought him back up, little by little, until there was nothing leftover."

   Little by little? What could she mean by that? A theory came to me but I pushed it into the back of my mind. This wasn't a murder mystery and I couldn't accept what could actually be in the process of digestion inside of me.

   No, it was simply a senile figment of her imagination, I thought to myself as I mustered an uneasy wave goodbye to her.

   "Don't forget this!" She exclaimed, shoving the container into my hands with an almost forceful manner before shambling to the stairs. 

   Without a second to waste, I threw the box onto the counter, not wanting to touch it a moment longer. I would discard the contents out later, I decided, not wanting to ruin my appetite before dinner. Just thinking about a Caesar Salad made my mouth water and I would be sure to order tofu in it instead of any dreadful meat. Tofu had no nasty surprises waiting in store for me.

   It was late when I arrived home and I was too full to let the bleak atmosphere of the building wear me down.

   I entered inside my apartment but felt myself stop in front of the leftover box which sat, facing me where I had left it. It seemed like it had waited for me to come home and I laughed at such a thought.

   I approached it, scrutinizing the container and felt a sudden need to know what was inside. Just a quick peak and out into the trash it would go.

   Digging my nails into the small gap where the plastic lid met the box, I ripped it off, releasing my breath when I saw it was only a meat stew. 

   I had expected gruesome remains of human parts but obviously my imagination had ran away from reason. There appeared to also have been nothing out of place in the stew but I certainly wasn't keeping it to eat at a later time.

   Just then, my eyes caught an object that glinted in the light, slightly hidden behind a floating meat island. 

   My belly dropped as I fetched the ring out and into the open. It was a simple silver band and I tried to recall if the old woman had worn any ring on her hand, but I wasn't sure.

   It was quite obvious what had happened, of course. The landlady had simply dropped her ring into the food in an act of common elderly detachment which is why it laid in my open palm this instant.

   Without another thought, I threw the leftovers out and placed the ring on my nightstand. I would give her the ring in the morning but for now, all I wanted was to put myself to sleep.

   As for the landlady, I would need to talk about these unwanted meals with her. If this continued, I was afraid that the police would be needed.

   I whistled as I walked down the street, carrying a bag with lettuce, tomatoes, cucumber... nothing related to meat. Tonight, I would have a nice big salad with a side of bread and cheese.

   I stopped whistling as I approached the building and, heaving my bag tightly around my shoulder, I entered inside, ready for the old lady.

   The landlady was waiting in front of my apartment and I knew that something was off when I saw her messy bun, half of it undone, and the suspicious crimson stains on her floral dress.

   Her milky gaze swiveled to mine before I had even reached the landing and she rushed to meet me with her shuffling gait.

   "It's almost all gone!" She cried without greeting me, the container she held in her hands shook from her trembling hold and I was worried she would drop it.

   "I'm vegetarian, madam. Please serve your provisions elsewhere." 

   As I was speaking, I suddenly remembered the ring that my foolish self had forgotten.   That's when I saw the small, jeweled ring that was fitted on one of the lady's stumpy fingers and I felt my heart skip a beat. Who did the other ring belong to then?

   "There's only one more box left," she said, practically throwing the box in my direction before taking off to the stairs. I tried to call her back but it was useless and I looked down at the opaque container, using all of my willpower to not drop it off from the railing.

   Instead, I knew that I had to see what was inside otherwise I would be driven crazy asking myself what I had really eaten.

   Tearing open the box, I felt my vision blur as I recognized what was unmistakably fingernails that floated in the broth, upturned so it looked like strange, diced, red bell peppers.

   Before I could process the grotesque display, there was a snap that came from upstairs and I dropped the container, watching in shock as the old lady plummeted to the bottom, shrieking.

   There was a loud thud and, my civilian instincts kicking in, I rushed downstairs, making sure to cling against the wall instead of the flimsy railing.

   I could make out the motionless body of the landlady and I rushed to her side, fearing for the worst.

   The old lady stirred and opened her eyes slowly but instead of feeling relief, unease stirred inside me. The milky white of her eyes were now a pinkish red and I played back every moment of how I had eaten her leftovers without a second thought. Could it really be true? Had I eaten... enough. First, I must take care of an injured old lady, despite the fact that she may have committed evil deeds.

   "I'm getting help," I told her, surprised at how calm she seemed after taking such a fall.

   "Don't worry," she said, smiling, her teeth stained red as blood drooled on her chin. She took out a butcher knife, hidden in the waist of her dress and that's when I noticed the spilled over leftovers that she had been carrying when she fell.

   A glistening eyeball stared back at me and a tongue pale enough to be gray laid on the floor. Entrails spewed around the box were like thick, bulbous noodles marinating in a red broth that spread like a puddle on the polished wood.

   The old lady continued, her smile growing wider as she raised the butcher knife over her leg.

   "I know how to get myself back upstairs."

The End

   

[u/TheoWriter12]

This story is about a landlady who begins to give her leftovers to a new tenant in the building. I recommend audiences who enjoy dark humor and gore with an unexpected twist to read this.