Just Eat

This was originally posted on Substack.

“I know what you are.”

Those were the words that had haunted Viana for months. It was so bad that her viewers had noticed; there was no way for her to edit around her discomfort. Knowing that someone, one of those very viewers, knew who she really was, what her family was, deeply unsettled her. She couldn’t get her hands to stop shaking as she set up her recording. Her kitchen was primed. Her channel was her candid experience with learning how to cook. Her edits were at most speeding up the mundane things she had done many times before, and the wait for cook times. Other than that, it was a real-time viewing experience. 

“Good Morning, guys! Or whatever time you’re watching this.” Viana said to the lens with a smile so wide her cheeks hurt. This was the one thing she had to do; everyone wants a grin. Joy brought viewers in, and her realness made them stay. Her early videos taught her that very few people wanted to watch a monotone person cook for an hour. She learned that she could get away with a lot when she smiled. Be awkward, say something inappropriate, go blank while talking, just smile. No one cared what was underneath. 

‘Mostly, that’s not true.’ She thought. 

People see what you let them, and in the parasocial YouTube space, it was easy to lose yourself in a sea of praise and money. That’s what had happened to Viaba’s contemporary, Marsha. She used to be an overenthusiastic chef. Someone who would quote Ratatouille with such passion, it was contagious. But what was she now? Beyond the cartoonish over-edited thumbnails was a husk of a woman. Alone in a fancy kitchen, divorced, and without the custody of her children. Because she let the internet strangers know too much. Something Viana didn’t do, any story she shared was heavily scripted and sometimes even well-crafted lies. Her family was peculiar to say the least, and her community lived on the fringes of society. So, she made them better. Her mother was a homemaker with an interest in horticulture and animal husbandry. Her father was a factory worker who had lost his finger in an industrial accident. Her grandma was a retired chef and butcher. Then Viana was the baby of the family, so spoiled that she’d never learned how to cook. That part was true. She had never learned how to cook from her mom and grandma. Her channel was her journey of teaching herself to cook, as well as expanding her palate. To her viewers, she was a former vegetarian. 

“Today, we are going to be making chicken pad thai. Now my skill in cooking chicken has come a long way from just burning it.” Viana heartlessly laughed at the non-joke. Her first attempt at chicken had her eating chunks of chicken coal on the internet. “Now, I get to tackle rice noodles. The recipe is one I found from a mommy-blogger. As you know, they have some of the best dishes.” She started to talk as she went through the recipe, but she kept pausing. The threat was heavy on her mind, and her trying to repress it was causing her body to seize up. 

“Okay, guys. I'm sorry, this isn’t what I wanted to cook, and it’s not really coming out right.” Viana’s shoulders sagged and her smile fell from her face. “I will see you next time.” She ended her recording. Threats really damper the victim’s sense of self, of stability. And she didn’t know if she could let this continue. So, she did something a creator isn’t supposed to…

‘Fine, wanna meet up and discuss :P’ was what Viana sent back, and she hoped the little emoji conveyed casualness. After she sent it, she started to edit her little bit of video. She had been receiving messages like this for over half a year. Once she got past the threshold of 450,000 subscribers, this person had started to inconsistently email her. The first email had been all her personal information and her family tree. Very surface-level things, but it was the message that shook her. ‘Are they lies?’

She didn’t understand. Her family wasn’t a lie. The internet wasn't entitled to know who she was, who her family was. They were quirky and lived unconventionally. She was from a strong matriarchal family. They were strong and did what was necessary to survive in hard times. There was no shame in that; all families have secrets. She really wished that was where it stopped.

‘Time and place.’ Was the response Viana got, and it infuriated her more. It quickly turned to a chilled fear when this user sent another message. ‘Lost in an accident?’ It was a work photo of her father. It was old; her father barely looked like that now. His hair was gray now, and his face had softened. In his hand was a can of aerosol spray. The can was circled in red to draw attention to the three fingers visible, to the empty space between the middle finger and pinky. This was then followed by another attachment. It was of her grandfather’s obituary. It was one of the pictures from his memorial video. In the picture his ring finger was missing. Then it was followed by, ‘Was he the only husband?’ With her grandma’s faded wedding licenses, obituaries from men she had never met, and news clippings about those same men going missing. 

It was too much. The stress was eating at her. How much did this person know? What were their plans? What did they want? Her family, and by extension her community, was eccentric. In the days leading up to the meeting, the messages continued. 

‘Know them?’ With attached articles on other missing people, police reports, and family statements from the news. Viana didn’t know them, had never seen these people. Her hands were clean. ‘Did you enjoy the fruits of the community?’ Came the next message, her stomach tensed and swirled. 

It was becoming too much. The stress made it hard to sleep, which rolled into her not being able to record any videos. Her hands were too unsteady to cut and prepare her meals. This also led to her not being able to eat. She usually ate her leftovers, regardless of her end result. Her stomach was starting to eat itself in between ghastly growls. Hunger was cruel. It took her back to before she went on her journey. She could feel the cold from the kitchen floor as she cried. Food she had made scattered in pale, cold lumps around her. She couldn’t go back to that. She would not crumble under hunger again. 

Viana was from a family of resourceful people. They did what they needed to do to survive. She had to repeat that; she needed the conviction for what she was about to do. It took a community to build her, and they would protect her. The day before the fated meeting, there wasn’t a message. She hoped for a moment that maybe they had given up. They had succeeded in scaring her. She hadn’t been able to upload in a few weeks. She was making money off the residuals of older videos, but she needed to upload soon to retain her casual viewers. Within her circles, not uploading for more than three weeks was channel poison. And her Patrons weren’t happy that she had missed doing her monthly streaming session. Yes, some were worried, but if she went radio silent for a week longer, then she would have nothing to show for her years of work. ‘This has to end’, was all she could think as she tossed and turned in the night. She decided she would handle it in much the same way as her ancestors. 

The agreed-upon location was an abandoned factory. It was surrounded by a district lost to time because of modernization and moving factory jobs overseas. Very little foot traffic, except for the downtrodden of society. And when things less than savory happened, they didn’t go to the police. She felt a little silly about the whole situation, but the object in her pocket grounded her. She never thought she would use this. As the baby, she was known as the most passive in her community. 

“So good to finally meet you.” The greasy and gravely voice was fitting for the person as they walked from the shadows. He looked like he had seen better days and could be mistaken for a vagabond. His pale skin was sallow, his eyes were hauntingly dark, and wild pieces of brown hair jutted from under his beanie. 

“Yep, I’m here. Want an autograph? Some limited merch?” Viana asked to put him off. She wanted to appear casual, nonplussed. She was in control. 

“You think I did this all for some merch?” He asked incredulously. She shrugged at his shock. “You saw what I know. You’re being slow. Do not mess with me.”

“I don’t understand. What do you want?” She asked with her hand in her pocket.

“You and your community are so bold, you operate in the day. Most of you have normal jobs; it’s impressive.”

“Okay?”

“I want in?”

“In?”

“Yes, or I’ll expose this century-old secret. Then how would society react? A bunch of black women have been eating people? I want to know everything there is. I want to join,” he asserted and tried to make himself appear bigger. Viana kind of froze. She had run through this scenario in her head many times, but now that she was here, she couldn’t move. 

“Okay,” she stuttered out, “But there is an oath.” She said.

“An oath?” He looked at her with eagerness, and she planted her feet more firmly on the ground. 

“Yes, I need you to kneel. I wasn’t really sure of your intentions, so I did put something in the car. It’s what we use to initiate people.” She said as she gestured to her car, which was visible beyond the loading dock. He assessed her. There was a war behind his eyes, and his hands twitched at his side. 

“What do you need me to do?” He walked closer, “I can get it out of your car. I will do anything.”

“Of course, follow me. Then we will do the kneeling, initiation thing.” She said she gestured to her car. She drove a hatchback, and she needed to time what she was going to do properly. They walked over to her car, she was trying to keep in stride with him, and as she did, her hand was busy in her pocket preparing her savior. She held her breath as she clicked open her hatchback. “Here it is,” she said as the back door rose above their heads, and she stood behind him.

“What is it? It’s just trunk-ju- ”he didn’t finish as he gasped loudly. His open hoodie showed enough skin for her to jab in a needle. She shushed him as she pressed down on the plunger. His body crashed into the trunk. His head thudded against her tire jack. He was still alive, so that’s all that mattered. When people died, their meat went bad instantly. And this man was giving her some ideas. 

“It is some junk. I do need to clean back here.” She removed the needle and capped it. Viana riffled through his pockets to find his cellphone and anything that could be traceable. With his phone in her hands, she used his thumb to get access to its contents. To get a glimpse of his life and see if anyone was expecting him. It also looked like he didn’t have long text conversations with anyone. So, he must delete them, and that’s what she did. To her delight, this man was a loner who had folders with pictures of dead bodies, mostly sex workers. She chucked the phone as hard as she could on the concrete below. The screen shattered, and it bent at an angle. She pounded her foot on it until it was further reduced to tech junk. When the screen separated from the frame, she picked it back up to tear out more bits. She chucked the pieces in multiple directions, except for the chips in the phone. She would boil those when she got home. It was a little work to get him fully into her truck and cover him, but she did it. 

“I was gonna just take you to the market,” Viana said as she drove through traffic, carefully, of course. She had seen so many normal people get pulled over for reckless driving, only to have a body in the car discovered. Her journey home would be safe; she wouldn’t even litter by throwing the man’s wallet away. She would burn it in her sink later. Shame, it was a high-quality leather. “But now I feel inspired to cook something. Doesn’t that sound lovely?” She continued to drive to her home. She had been able to purchase a small home with her internet income. It was in a nice, quiet neighborhood, and she had a proper garage. She wouldn’t have to be worried about being caught on someone’s security camera. 

Hefting a grown man was easier once she tied a sheet around his waist. She had heard of the dredge of moving dead weight. Those people had to be downplaying it. She had slipped several times, and lost her grip. She wanted her victim to remain alive, but she was sure after bashing his head on a corner that her time was limited. Bruises were forming, and he wasn’t going to taste as good. The meat would be too chewy. She left him on her kitchen floor and stalked off to the bathroom. She returned with another syringe of sedative. She really needed him to be out for the next part. With a few final tugs, she got him into her laundry room. Viana had prepped the room before she left; every conceivable surface was lined with plastic. She took a knife out and experimentally poked the man in his leg. He groaned, but he didn’t move. This would be perfect.

“Hey guys, I'm so sorry, I haven’t been making videos. I have had some tough things going on off-screen. And to my Patrons, get ready to enjoy several streams featuring beef.” She said to the camera. “I think part of it is that I wasn’t inspired. I reverted back to who I was before I started this journey.” She paused as she looked down and then back up with some tears in her eyes. “My desire to cook came back, and today we are going to make a nice beef roast with some garlic-infused vegetables.” She showed the camera her bowl filled with meat. “With a roast, the meat is going to be tough. We will be using a shank cut. I am proud of myself; my local butcher gave me some slabs of meat. I wanted to break it down myself, and I think I did a good job.” She held up one of the pieces. It was dark red, glistening, and long. “This looks great. We are going to get this into a crock pot, and while it softens we are going to prep the vegetables. Those we add last because who wants disintegrated vegetables?” She said with a shrug and a smile. 

As Viana went through the steps, she felt like herself again. The aroma of garlic and herbs permeated her house. She continued to talk to the camera. “Make sure not to burn yourself as we flambé this.” She tipped the pan, and the contents burst into gorgeous mahogany flames. “Now, take it off the heat, and add it to our crockpot.” She poured the vegetables into her other cooking vessel. “If you want, this would be a good time to add rice if you want something hardier. Well, I will see you when it’s done.” She cut the camera off, and her smile dropped. She was tired. She spooned some of the stew into a bowl. It wasn’t done, but it would do.

“You hungry?” She asked as she walked into the laundry room. The man was there. He was pale and stared dazedly at the ceiling. “It was a bit of touch and go. You lost a lot of blood.” He gained as much awareness as the sedative would allow. He groaned as he turned to look at where his arm used to be.”

“W-” he tried to start, but his mouth wouldn’t open. 

“You thought I would just kill you? That spoils the meat.” She crouched beside him near the stump left of his legs.“There really isn’t a point to feeding you. But I really want that ribeye cut. Hungry?” She offered him a spoon with a chunk of meat. “C’mon. Eat it.”