Sam Williams - Tales from the Swollen Corpse

Ryan and Paul’s new place “Claudette’s” (named after Ryan’s English bulldog) had not been doing too well. After some success in the bay area, they had come to California’s wine country with hopes of being the next “French Laundry”. To their dismay, becoming “foodie holy ground” proved a tad harder than the young entrepreneurs expected.

Claudette’s had only been open a month but failed to garner any fans. It seemed the wave of acclaim they road in on had already begun to recede. Ryan was thinking of going back home for the weekend while the restaurant received new flooring that hadn’t arrived in time for the opening. Paul, an avid mountain biker and outdoor enthusiast, came up with an idea for a camping trip. He convinced Ryan a weekend of breathtaking views in the High Sierras was just what they needed to get their heads back in the game. Before he knew it, Paul found himself paying the campground fee. Jumping back into the SUV, he told Ryan to take the next road past the ranger station. Hearing the grinding sound of the gravel under his SUV’s tires, it occurred to Ryan that it had never been off pavement. The road wound along the edge of a lake but only gave quick glimpses of water through the dense tree growth. Following the map the ranger gave them, the road veered up. Ryan stopped the car by a rusted fire ring. In front of them the tree line gave way to the lake below, glistening in the early June sun, beyond the lake were nothing but mountains.

“Wow this is fantastic. Good idea Paul!”

“I told you, it’s incredible up here.”

Paul was relieved by Ryan’s excitement. Ryan’s idea of roughing it was eating a TV dinner. It rather surprised Paul when Ryan agreed to the trip. Paul’s own enthusiasm was tested when he found himself doing most of the work putting up the tents and setting up camp. Being a resilient soul, he never stayed irritated for long. Besides , Paul thought, having to do most of the work wasn’t anything new .

As the sun disappeared behind the mountain, they settled around a fire. Paul made what he called “Cowboy fillets” with herb butter. For the sides: grilled asparagus spears and new potatoes. The meal was a lot more work than Paul would normally go through camping alone. He even put effort in plate presentation, but could tell Ryan was less than impressed. Ryan took two bites then announced he would be doing breakfast.

They spent the rest of the evening polishing off two nice bottles of red wine and brainstorming new ideas for Claudette’s menu. After Ryan felt he had drunk enough to attempt sleeping in a sleeping bag, he excused himself to his tent. Paul stayed up for awhile enjoying the stars. He contemplated sleeping outside until the cool air turned plain cold. Then he retired as well.

Paul woke to the humid warm air of his tent. Outside the early light cast the campsite in hues of blue. The fire was still smoldering as he got the travel stove and a folding table out from the back of the SUV. He laughed to himself while looking inside the vehicle at all the unnecessary stuff Ryan had brought. When Ryan finally got up, he seemed in pretty bad shape. Paul prepared himself for the bitch fest. Surprisingly enough, Ryan sucked it up, not complaining a bit. He even got cheery when he saw Paul had set him up to start breakfast. The only thing Ryan liked more than eating a fine meal was preparing it.

After breakfast and clean up, Paul suggested a hike. Taking a deep breath of the crisp air and looking out at the lake Ryan said he was game. Paul suggested they pack a lunch but Ryan insisted they shouldn’t be gone that long and needed to get back to do it proper.

Heading off, the pair found a trailhead just a little down the road they had come in on. About thirty minutes in, Paul could tell Ryan was getting worn out. They hadn’t seen the lake in awhile and the trees hid any other views to be had. Not wanting to climb up the mountain any more, Ryan found another little path heading down through the brush.

“Let’s try this maybe it’s a short cut.” Ryan said pointing at the path.

“That was probably made by deer. We should stay on the trail. If you want, we can head back.”

“Oh come on! I thought you were the Boy Scout! Where’s that adventurous spirit?”

Ryan had made up his mind and already started heading down the trail before Paul could protest. By noon, both were tired, hungry and hopelessly lost.

Taking a seat on a fallen tree, Ryan mumbled just loud enough for Paul to hear, “I can’t believe you got us lost.”

Paul turned towards Ryan and yelled, “You son of a bitch…AHHHHHHH!” he screamed as the iron jaws of a bear trap snapped down on his left ankle. Blood soaked his jean leg. Paul dropped to his other knee screaming.

Ryan stayed seated cupping his hand over his mouth repeating “Oh my God!” Paul screamed at him to help. Paul’s screams broke through his shock and Ryan stumbled over and kneeled by Paul. He tried, without luck, to free him. While they toiled neither man heard the swoosh of a club swing through the air. Paul stopped yelling just long enough to see his friend fall against the dirt, unconscious.

First blackness, then sound, then Ryan tried to open his eyes. Pain pounded his skull with every beat of his heart. He lifted his head and a string of drool hung from his lip. Looking around, he realized he was inside a house. It took a minute for his eyes to focus. His arms and legs were tingling from being tied tightly to the chair. Slowly his senses came back; Ryan noticed the room was full of a pungent smell.

A large husky man entered into Ryan’s view from behind him. He was wearing jeans and a t-shirt which were covered by a bloody butcher’s apron. At the sight of the frightening looking man, Ryan remembered Paul, the bear trap and being hit. Ryan’s eyes filled with tears and he began to whimper. The large man put his immense arms behind him and untied the apron which he hung on a nail.

“Oh, you’re awake, was kinda hoping you’d be dead. Works for me, fresher that way. Gives me more time to deal with your buddy.”

The man walked back behind Ryan, who continued to whimper. Ryan looked around the room through watery eyes. The walls were covered in dark imitation wood paneling. There was a window and door but both well out of reach bound as he was. The sounds behind him were familiar; clanging of pots, the sound of a fridge door opening. It was a kitchen. He heard a pot lid being lifted then set on the counter. The smell got stronger. It was meat cooking, it was gamey and it was overpowering.

“Oh my Lord, Oh my Lord!” Ryan shouted hysterically.

“Scream all you want. Ain’t none in these parts to hear you.” The deep and eerily calm voice came from behind him.

“What did you do to Paul?”

“Well part of him is in here with me and the rest outside in the smoke house.”

“What did you do with my friend?” Ryan repeated himself.

“I just told you.” The man now sounded a little annoyed.

“No, you don’t understand what I am asking. Is that cumin and mint? And I think I detect a hint of cayenne.”

“What? Ah yeah. How’d you know that? ” the man replied, obviously amused.

“It’s my job. I have two restaurants and in my professional opinion that smells divine.”

The burly man walked into the room looking very interested in what Ryan was saying. He held a bowl in one of his massive hands.

“You want to try some?”

“It would be a pleasure, please.”

The man reached into the bowl and pinched off a piece of meat with long dirty fingernails. He placed the meat into Ryan’s waiting mouth. Ryan chewed the meat, taking his time with it.

Then with a face of astonishment he proclaimed, “Oh my God, oh my God, that is divine.”