Fossil Lake: An Anthology of the Aberrant Read Free

your order. Any questions?”
    Jo had one. “How long will it take to regrow the limb, or whatever part is removed from the body?”
    “That depends. A finger usually takes an hour. Nothing takes longer than a day, though. With the highly trained scientists, geneticists, and doctors we have here, Eat Yourself has the most advanced technology involving medicine and health in the entire world.”
    After the nurse left again, Jo opened the leather-bound menu and glanced at what the restaurant had to offer. It all sounded fancy, and oh-so gruesome: blood bisque, fillet of tongue, roasted thigh. If she hadn’t been hopped-up on drugs, she might have either fainted or puked all over the table.
    “Paul, I’m really having second thoughts about this.”
    He scrunched his eyebrows. “Are you serious? You want to back out now ?”
    “Well ...”
    Two men walked up to Jo and Paul’s table. The larger man was tall and thick; he looked ex-military. With strong arms crossed over his barrel chest, shades tinted so his eyes could barely be seen through the lenses, and a black toque resting on top of his head, Chef Baron Lavour was indeed an intimidating person. The smaller man reminded Jo of a remora, the fish that hangs onto a shark through suction. Dressed with a black bowtie and holding a high-end electronic tablet, he never wavered more than an arm’s length from the boss.
    “Good evening, and congratulations on your winnings. I am Troy, Chef Baron LaVour’s personal sous-chef and assistant. I will be speaking on his behalf. Any questions before we begin?”
    They shook their heads.
    “Good. Before you order, I will need to ask a few questions. First, what are your names?”
    Paul spoke for them. “Paul and Josephine Kline.”
    The assistant pecked away at the screen and continued on. “Ages?”
    “I’m thirty-nine, and she’s thirty-seven.”
    “Had you heard about Eat Yourself before receiving an invitation?”
    “Yes, of course. Who hasn’t?”
    “You’d be surprised, Mr. Kline. Do either of you have any food allergies?”
    “Nope.”
    “Good. Now, have you decided what to order?”
    Paul smiled and winked at Jo, and it was then that she realized what dish he had chosen. No, not that one, she thought.
    “I want the Suicide Feast,” he said.
    A hush fell among those seated nearby. It was the most dangerous meal in the entire world. Choosing the Suicide Feast involved the aorta, a section each of the carotid and radial arteries, and both corneas. It was prepared only one way, and that was Chef Baron LaVour’s way.
    The chef’s gaze bored through the tinted glasses, narrow slits studying Paul as if taking his measure. Then the large man nodded. He turned to Jo and waited for her order.
    “Um, I’m not really sure ... can I just have, like, a couple of fingers fried? Like, only one, maybe two?” Her voice quavered. She didn’t want to do it, not even with the drugs pumping through her system. She hoped the chef would see her unease and dismiss her from this gruesome trend that was somehow acceptable in today’s society, but she could tell he would have none of that in his restaurant.
    The chef’s eyes glowed with a fiery anger. He hissed something to his assistant and stormed off.
    “Chef Baron LaVour has little patience for indecision,” Troy told Jo. “He will decide for you and return when he is ready.”
    Before she could argue, Troy snatched the menus from their hands and left the table.
    “Geez, Jo, way to embarrass me,” Paul said.
    Her face flushed. “ I’m embarrassing you ?”
    “Shh, honey, don’t raise your voice–”
    She cut him off. “I’ve been telling you how uncomfortable this whole thing has made me, and you’ve ignored every bit of it. You just ordered something that could potentially kill you. Remember when that actor ordered it and died from complications?”
    “That was when Eat Yourself first opened. It still had its bugs to work out. Nothing like that has happened in