Sunday, October 12, 2014

TOMAS HIDES FROM A SLEEPY ANGRY GIANT ASSISTANT COOK ... 10/12/14

It's got cold in that kitchen late at night. Central heating was primitive at best. Most manor houses were like that. Perhaps there were some sort of hot water radiators in the bedrooms... maybe in the sitting rooms and dining room. But backstairs and downstairs were left to their own devices. Lucky servants had small, coal burning braziers... little cast iron safe-like things tucked in a corner. Kitchens had nothing. Oh, the ovens and stove keep it toasty enough during the day... cozy in winter... stifling in summer. But stoves and ovens cooled fast and granite counter tops got like gravestones.

Maybe the giant canine-folk living there didn't mind. Dogs normally run a temperature of one hundred and two degrees. That's why they think nothing of laying down and waiting for their human pack mates on icy sidewalks. And their brethren here in this universe wore clothes. They had special, fine leather, dog shaped boots for their feet and everything else dog-faced money could buy.

The cook's helper, roused from her sleep, by the falling broom, stumbled into the kitchen half asleep. She didn't want to come, but if anything was amiss and her superior saw it in the morning, they'd throw her to the wolves (backwoods primitives not known for social niceties). So the one hundred and eighty foot high (equal to a five foot tall girl in her world) Border Collie looking thing, pulled on her robe and went in.

Tomas saw her. He froze... an insignificant scrap of flesh, there on the long, chill counter. But she shuffled right by him, a passing behemoth, and picked up the broom, returning it to it's rightful place in the corner. That's when Tomas did it. He silently ran to a narrow space behind the glass tank. It didn't touch the tiled back splash. It was tight, but he could do it, standing there with his cheek pressed against the thick, green glass. The straw-like excelsior inside the tank was still. None of the humans hidden there so much as breathed. It was dark, but he could see it. How scared they must be, desperate for a few more hours of life. 

But she came back. The kitchen 'girl' came back. She stopped and looked down at the tank. Moonlight falling in through the big windows made things just a bit discernible. She tapped at the glass with a claw-like nail. She sighed, leaned down on the counter and peered inside. 

Tomas saw it all, as she reached in, searched through the shredded paper and fished out a terrified human, delicately holding him between her thumb and forefinger. How he kicked his feet. But he never screamed. He was too scared to scream. Sound would only make it worse. 

The giantess raised him up to her eyes, as she reached over with her free hand and quickly pinched off his head. There wasn't much blood. Pressure took care of that. Then she popped him into her mouth and chewed him up. Maybe she didn't like crunching heads. Some people are fussy. 

After that, she ate two more. There were thousands in the dirt trays down the cellar. A gourmet treat they were, grown with utmost care, just like the snails they raise in France.

It'd be dawn soon. Siderial rhythms here were similar to the ones back home. Then they'd all die, but the breeding stock down in the trays would go on.

Then the border- collie- looking  kitchen help sponged a bit of blood from the counter and went back to bed.

What she did with the heads was anybody's guess. 

Tomas stayed where he was, watching the excelsior that never moved.

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