Short Stories

chef for a goddess and her children

Sometimes I like to think of the life I had before I became a chef for a cannibal. Let's start with my name. I am Patrick Addams, and I am a chef for supernatural beings. No one wants to be seen by me, as I am the one that dismembers them as they watch with tear-filled eyes. Don't think of me as a monster, I am only doing what is needed. Luckily if you do find yourself under my knife, I will give you something for the pain. so you don't feel a thing. It makes my job hard, as I have to make sure she doesn't taste the medicine in your body or I will lose another part of my body. Before I tell you my story and what my job entails, I best tell you the details of my life but they are not for the faint of hearts as not many truly know the horrors of butchering other humans. Take this as a warning, as beyond this point these images will be burned into your head and you may never forget them.

I was a normal boy all through my life leading up to college, I loved cooking and the talents required for such a craft. So I would always be mommy's helper in the kitchen. This did not please my dad and would lead to his disappearance after he was arrested, after beating me one too many times calling me a fruitcake, or other things I don't like to discuss. To be clear I am not gay in any way, but cooking with my mom was too fruity for a boy to do in my father's eyes. After he was gone, life seemed to be better and I grew up cooking. I could make Gourmet dinners for my mom at the age of 17. My mom loved it but due to my dad missing, she had to pick up full-time jobs in the afternoon that would leave me home alone for most nights. I still would make amazing delicious food each night, as if my mom would return in the dead of night. Once I finished my food and told the empty chair in front of me about my day at school, I would clean up and put mom's food in the fridge for her to enjoy later once she got home after I was asleep.

This would last well into my early 20s until I got accepted into an Institute of Culinary Education or more known as ICE. The best school for young chefs in America. My mother was so happy for me, but I was nervous that I wouldn't fit in or fail. She assured me I would be the best of the best. So with some preparation, I would go to ICE and within a year I graduated with straight A's but soon after my mother came down with COVID-19 and had to be hospitalized. While visiting and staying with her through her treatments, I looked for jobs but almost everything was shut down, so finding a job was near impossible. My mother died in the hospital due toCOVID-19. After her burial all she had gone to me including the growing debt and payments on the house. With no job they just continued to grow rapidly. Luckily our president passed a bill that allowed me to keep my home even though I didn't pay anything for it. So there I was broke and barely making it by when I received a letter that was stamped by an odd-looking wax symbol of the mayans. It must have been hand-delivered to my mailbox. Once I opened it I found a passport in my name, a handwritten letter, and 5,000$. This is what the letter said,

"I wish this was in other circumstances but I am now reaching out to you Mr.Addams as I have a job offer unlike any other, that will easily wipe away your debts you have. I seek a new chef for my daily meals as the last one failed to impress me. I have given you a little bit of cash and a passport so you may make your way to me. There will be a private jet waiting for you at Charleston airport. Arrive there and show your passport and they will board you on my jet without asking a question. I hope to see you soon."

I'm aware of how strange this letter was but I was in desperate times and 5000 dollars was more than promising. I jumped at the offer in a heartbeat despite the many red flags going off. As of right now, I am torn as if I should take the offer or not. At first, it was a horrible nightmare but now it's like any other job and all my debt is gone.

I went to the airport by the cab that showed up at my house. The drive was an hour away. Once there I entered the main building on the airport which seemed only to be used by the wealthy. After entering the building there was a female sitting at the front desk looking at me. I walked up to her, gave her my passport, and my ID. She looked at it for a moment before saying,