Inspired by the Twilight Zone
Mr. Chambers had always prided himself on being hard to fool. He’d cracked ciphers, exposed conspiracies, and once spotted a forged signature from across the room. But nothing in his career prepared him for Kalar — the towering Kanamit assigned to “escort” him after humanity eagerly accepted the aliens’ generous offer of interstellar travel.
Kalar was unfailingly polite. Too polite. His voice had the smoothness of someone who had practiced sounding reassuring for centuries.
“Mr. Chambers,” Kalar said each morning, “you must keep up your strength. We have… plans for you.”
The meals he brought were monumental. Trays groaning under roasts, stews, breads, and desserts so rich they seemed engineered rather than baked. Chambers tried to protest, but Kalar always insisted.
“Please,” the alien said, “it is important that you… fill out before departure or we’ll have to replace you with another suitable specimen.
Chambers wasn’t sure what “fill out” meant, but Kalar said it with the same tone a tailor might use when discussing fabric. The alien watched him eat with an unsettling attentiveness, nodding approvingly as Chambers’ appetite grew under the relentless encouragement.
By week two, Chambers’ clothes were losing their battle. By week three, Kalar began measuring him — waist, shoulders, arms — humming cheerfully as the numbers rose.
“You are becoming quite… robust,” Kalar said, as though complimenting a fine harvest. “A truly admirable… yield.”
Chambers blinked. “Yield?”
Kalar’s smile widened. “Oh yes. You have fattened up deliciously.”
The alien’s phrasing grew stranger by the day.
“You are ripening nicely, Mr. Chambers.”
“Your development is… mouthwatering.”
“You will be perfect for the arrival feast.”
Chambers tried to laugh it off, but Kalar’s tone never wavered. It was always warm, always courteous, always just a shade too delighted.
One afternoon, Chambers wandered into a Kanamit study chamber. Kalar was there, poring over a large, leather-bound book. Chambers recognized the title immediately.
He felt a chill. “I thought that was a guide to helping humanity.”
Kalar closed the book gently, and laugh! “Well of course it is! What did you think it was? A cookbook?”
Chambers swallowed. “Well it had occurred to me. I don’t know what aliens eat.”
Kalar placed a massive hand on his shoulder — comforting, yet unmistakably possessive.
“Oh we eat what the universe provides. We have been watching your race for many years,” the alien said. “Your race is not very smart but in recent years we have noticed you have a propensity to fatten up to extraordinary limits. Over the next 200 years we will will take advantage of that trait and fatten up the entire planet as needed. You are part of our test kitchen.”
Chambers backed away. “So you are going to eat us!”
Kalar nodded. “Oh well yes but this is not the cookbook. This is a feeding manual. He held up another book with the title, The Joy of Cooking Humans! “This is the cookbook I am using.”
The alien gestured toward a gleaming chamber that radiated heat like a summer oven.
“It is time,” Kalar said softly, “for your final… service.” As he lay the chubby Chambers into a huge roasting pan, trussed him up neatly and basted him with herbs and oil.
Chambers realized then — too late — that every compliment, every meal, every measurement had been leading to this moment.
Kalar smiled broadly and licked his lips as he pushed Chubby Chambers into the hot oven.
yousharknotpass
kianamaiart
titsay
