Mobius (35 page)

The Master with the tallest of top hats disregarded Orsteen’s statement. “I commend your companion’s enthusiasm. It’s not often our food appreciates its situation. I promise that when the time comes, you’ll be prepared by Palook with the utmost care and expertise. Then, unlike your friend believes...” He gestured to me. “...you won’t be devoured in snaps and gulps as if we were animals. Rather, you’ll be relished and savored. Be proud of what you’ll become.”

I scoffed. “If we’re privileged to be your meal, then why do you conceal our faces with these hoods?” I pointed to the main course. “Even after your victims are prepared and cooked, they still wear hoods over their heads. Are you afraid you’ll relate to them on some personal level, or do you not wish the faces of your food to haunt your dreams?”

Just then, a girl in a fashionable gown strolled into the room.

One of the Masters tipped his hat in greeting. “You’re late, Felia. The main course grows cold. We were just being entertained by the food, which has been sharing its insights in regard to our psyches.”

Taking her seat, she loaded her plate with a large scoop of the stuffing that bloated the main course’s chest cavity. She then cut a generous portion of thigh meat.

She was the same girl who had lured us into this dreadful situation. Despite her charming appearance, she was no less a monster than the Masters of the house.

I looked at them scornfully. “Am I wrong to assume that this angel-eyed devil was once on your menu? Why wasn’t
she
allowed the privileged fate you now give us? Was she so innocent in appearance that, out of guilt, you allowed her to live? In my opinion, she’s suffered a fate far worse than digestion.”

One of the Masters signaled Palook, who electrified my cage.

The meal continued, with the four cannibals eating slowly upon the victim who’d lost his life for the epicurean psychosis of three madmen and a child.

Over their meal, the Masters spoke of past hunts and plotted future hunts using new and innovative luring and trapping techniques. At one point, they paused and gathered around us, examining and prodding, discussing the best ways to prepare and garnish us.

At the end of the meal, the four diners sat in silence, apparently intoxicated by their eating binge. A yellow tinge of oil stained the perimeters of their mouths and their bellies protruded so much that they appeared pregnant.

Palook took the leftovers of the main course to the kitchen. I could see him through the open door as he removed the metallic-mesh hood and indulged on the head meat. It made me sick.

As the days passed, we grew tired and depressed as our bodies grew fatter from the rich butterbean porridge. To diminish our spirits further, we were forced to shit and piss into buckets attached to the bottoms of our cages. It was a level of humiliation I’d never felt before.

When the Masters of the house were not out hunting, they busied themselves by competing at a game called Demons of the Majestic Onslaught. I found it similar to chess. Its board was a large hexagon composed of many smaller hexagons. The two opponents each commanded a set of twenty figurines, all of unique character and power.

With nothing else to do, I observed the game matches, eventually learning the rules and strategies. It proved to be my only source of entertainment.

At night, when the household was at rest, we made our best efforts to escape. We tried to pick the locks of our cages, but were unsuccessful.

I pled for help from the quartet of musicians who slept in their chairs: “I know you can’t see, but you can hear me. If you help us, we’ll lead you away from this awful place.” They didn’t respond. “Don’t my offers interest you? There’s more to this life than music and butterbeans!”

“They’re zombies,” said Morion. “Those implants at their temples must be control devices.”

“I think I’m getting through.” I continued coaxing the musicians. “There’s a fork on the floor. Bring it to me and I’ll pick our locks. In no time, you’ll be playing venues throughout this world and the next. Your music is too profound to be wasted on the ears of murderous monsters.”

Eventually, I gave up for the night. I leaned back and gazed up through the skylight. I noticed the celestial phenomenon we’d been warned about during our travels along the deuterium pipeline.

“Did you see that, Orsteen?”

“See what? I’ve been busy unraveling the fabric of my shirt, which I plan to use as a grapple to capture the fork on the floor.”

“The celestial phenomenon,” I said. “The one we were warned about. I believe it came alive for a moment.”

“You’ve become stir crazy,” said Orsteen. “The fellow who warned us about it was only making excuses to lure us within his shack.”

I rubbed my eyes. “I swear it pulsed, becoming twice as bright. Then, like an amoeba, it consumed a cluster of stars. Doesn’t it look bigger? Morion, what of you? Did you see it?”

Morion responded with snores as he slept soundly.

I shook my head in wonder. “Maybe I’m having a reaction to the butterbeans. I do feel strange. Goodnight, Orsteen.”

The next day, the Masters of the house trotted into the dining room. “We bring the three of you excellent news. You’ll soon be free.”

“You’ve at last realized your evil ways?” said Orsteen.

“You embrace my statement too liberally. You’ll be free from your cages, not from our bellies. We were successful in our morning hunt, giving us a surplus of food. Thus, the three of you will be prepared tomorrow morning.”

Morion grabbed the bars of his cage and pulled back and forth, swinging the cage haphazardly about. “I curse you wretched souls with all the power of my spirit! There’s a shit-load of karma to be dealt upon you in the next life!”

One of the Masters lifted a decorative walking cane and poked Morion’s stomach through the bars. “You’re a spicy one, aren’t you? I’ll have Palook prepare you accordingly.”

Morion shrank back to avoid the poking and made no reply.

The Masters left the room.

Morion looked to me. “Why do you stare forth, as if entranced? You’re supposedly the smart one. It’s about time you devise our escape. Theron! Do you hear me?”

“I... am...” I heard Morion’s statement but couldn’t reply. My head felt heavy and my brain burned.

“What’s the matter?” asked Orsteen.

“He’s broken under these conditions,” said Morion.

“Don’t fret, Theron.” Orsteen pointed downward. “Palook hasn’t discovered the fork on the floor, and I’ve nearly completed my grapple of fabric.”

My hearing diminished and Orsteen’s words became muted. I struggled to overcome the strange paralysis.
It’s the evil incubating inside me. It’s the Fume taking control?

The walls around me seemed to heave with each breath I took. The bars of my cage wiggled and bowed. Out of nowhere, another cage appeared next to mine. Allienora was in it, screaming and flailing. I wanted to save her, but I couldn’t move.

It isn’t real,
I thought.
She isn’t there. I’m losing my mind.

It was midday when two of the Masters came to the dining room for a game of Demons of the Majestic Onslaught. I still couldn’t move or speak. One of the Masters placed a key on the dining table. It was the key to our cages. It was our freedom. I focused on it.

I can feel it in my mind. The cold metal. Its meager weight.

Incredibly, the key moved in my direction. It slid slowly across the table and fell to the floor.

The Master of the house quickly responded by snatching it up. He looked suspiciously around, attempting to locate the ghostly culprit who had knocked it to the floor.

I emerged from my stupor, gaining full control of my faculties.
Was I dreaming? Did I really force the key from the table with some tendril of thought?

I grunted softly to gain Orsteen’s attention, making certain the Masters didn’t hear.

“You’ve at last snapped out of it,” whispered Orsteen. “I thought we lost you.”

“It’s begun.”

“What’s begun?”

Before responding, I thought about my condition. I moved my hand in front of my face.
It moves by my will alone.
This power is merely a side effect of the Fume’s energy in my mind. My thoughts are still my own. I shouldn’t tell them about my new ability.

“Never mind,” I said.

When no one was looking, I gave my full attention to the fork on the floor and attempted to summon the power to lift it off the ground and into my hands. The fork responded to my beckoning by moving only ten centimeters across the floor. I was filled with disappointment as I realized the weakness of my new telekinetic ability. Then it came to me.

“I have a plan to escape, Orsteen. You must do as I say, when I say.”

“Without question,” said Orsteen.

I indicated a stray butterbean at the base of Orsteen’s cage. “When I signal you, throw that butterbean toward the lead musician in the quartet. Aim for his head.” I turned to Morion. “You do the same.”

Morion searched his cage frantically. “I have no butterbeans! I’ve eaten them all!”

Orsteen rolled his eyes and then handed Morion a butterbean through the bars of his cage. “Theron, we wait for your signal.”

I watched as the Masters studied their game. I then signaled Orsteen and Morion. The butterbeans went flying. The lead musician, who was absorbed in the heavy notes of a complicated melody, became startled by the assault of butterbeans, causing his fingers to trip over the strings of his instrument, making a mess of the music.

The Masters turned to the musicians in outrage. “What’s this dissonance that rattles our ears? If this is a prelude to your enfeeblement, you’ll all be playing your music to the flames of the oven.”

While the Masters’ attention was drawn away from the game, I summoned the power to move a single figurine on the game-board, and then waited.

Once the musicians continued with their music, the Masters returned to their game, at which time one of them released a hideous cry.

“Cheater! We’ve played this game for decades. How many times have you beaten me by the sleight of your hand?”

“I’m speechless,” said the other Master, whose figurine had been moved to his advantage. “I can’t explain it.”

“Come now, your stupefied reaction won’t pardon you! It only enhances your guilt!”

The accused Master sat puzzled, wringing his hands. “Uh... well... we’ll start again and disregard this astonishing and unintentional event. It’s possible an earthquake shifted the piece—or maybe it was the collision of an insect.”