The Feast

Sam thought he was about to die. He nearly did, but that came later and under a different set of circumstances. For the time being, his predicament was the seemingly endless climb up the muddy trail, his throbbing fingers struggling to get a grip on the rotten wooden ramp and the unbearable humidity that had enveloped them the moment they had penetrated the forest. Very much a product of the city, Sam had agreed to a weekend trek at Mount Beichatian, about one hour outside Taipei, to please his girlfriend Tiffany, who often complained about the routine that had invaded their lives. An outing, she insisted, would bring some much-needed excitement. Sam, who was studying economics at National Taiwan University, eventually gave in to her pleas. After all, getting away from his homework for one weekend wouldn’t kill him, and it would prove to Tiffany that he was more than a scrawny bookworm.

Brushing the sweat from his forehead with the back of a grimy hand, adding bits of the local flora and pungent soil to the salt that was constantly burning his eyes, he very much regretted that act of kindness. He was dead last in the group, panting, his back straining painfully from the heavy backpack stuffed with water, snacks and a sleeping bag, and a drag on his friends, who constantly had to halt and wait for him. His blurred vision made the climb all the more challenging, not to mention that it gave the whole scene an eerie, dream-like quality. 

On several occasions he had come close to turning back and returning to civilization and to his book—alone if he had to. But then fear, the fear of disappointing Tiffany and of having to find his way alone in the serpentine paths of the forest had dissuaded him. And it was too late: they were already half-way up the mountain. Sam therefore persevered, gritting his teeth as he followed the rest of the group ever deeper into the forest, hemmed in by red cypresses and a variety of vascular plants he could not name.

By the time they reached their destination, the Eight Immortals tree, the sun had already begun its descent. Before them, the majestic tree was all gnarly sinews, like a giant extending its neck heavenwards as it emerged from the earth. The powerful roots, which reminded Sam of arteries, rose from the earth and formed an arch high enough for a person to stand underneath it. As he joined his companions for a group photo, the immensity of this ancient thing gave Sam the chills. He almost expected the network of knotty roots that plunged into the fertile soil would suddenly become alive and grab him by the ankles.

Night was quickly falling and the group decided to pitch their tents on the spot. One more day of this, Sam grumbled as he struggled with the stubborn equipment, and I will be back where I belong, where everything is safe, sound, and not so oppressively damp. But before that was the long night ahead, which he did not look forward to.

By the time the three tents were up, darkness had descended upon them like a mysterious veil and Roger had finally succeeded in starting a camp fire. The din of tin pots, as Tiffany and Jerry prepared their dinner of rice and a braised fish, sounded out of place amid the chorus of insects, unseen and lying just beyond the safe radius of the dancing campfire light.

Tiffany got up and joined him beside the tent they would share for the night. 

“Are you ok?” she asked, concern in her voice. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Her presence brought him back to reality.

“I’m fine” he replied, struggling to conceal the quaver in his voice. How he missed the city, its comforting abundance of lights and recognizable noises. “I was just thinking about how beautiful this place is. This is something we should have done a long time ago.”

She came closer and gazed searchingly into his eyes. 

“Thank you for doing this,” she said, kissing his cheek. As she rejoined Roger and the fish, Sam doubted he had succeeded in hiding his unease from her. She knew him too well to be deceived by his feigned enthusiasm. But he also knew that she appreciated his willingness to join them. It meant a lot to her, and that gave him some comfort. She was the brave one. Always had been.

He heard the distant roar of an airplane high above them as it traced the sky invisibly, and at that moment Sam wished he were in it. Flying at thirty thousand feet seemed more natural, and certainly safer, than being down here, surrounded by antediluvian trees and all matters of unseen but heard critters on the cusp of night. One more day…

The fish turned out to be terribly dry, and the hilarity that this occasioned allowed Sam to momentarily relegate his fears to the back of his mind. They formed a circle around the healthy fire, drinking beer and singing off-key into the night, competing for the attention of some unseen audience with the loud cacophony of insects and the chanting frogs beyond, hidden deep in the pitch-black mountains. For a while, Sam forgot the sensation that they were lost, that he and his friends would be swallowed into the earth and never be seen again by the waking world. Irrational silliness, Sam told himself as he finished a can of beer and opened another one, wanting more of the comforting buzz that came with the slow intoxication. Fear is irrational, and you’re anything but. He took another draught and put his arm around Tiffany’s neck, pulling her against him, a move he hoped communicated steadiness rather than the need for reassurance.

* * *

It happened in the dead of night, at the witchy half point between nothingness and the birth of a new day. A few hours earlier, the group of friends had crawled into their tents, and Sam and Tiffany had been unable, largely due to the effects of the alcohol they had consumed, to graduate beyond bits of drunken foreplay before falling soundly asleep.

At first it was a faint rasp, like a branch brushing against the fabric of the tent. Confused by alcohol and sleep, Sam sat up and listened intently while next to him Tiffany was unconscious, breathing deeply. He heard the scratching again, and then something that sounded like a murmur.

Sam quietly unzipped the door to the tent and clambered out, using his cell phone to project a faint glow into the darkness before him. Far away, the frogs were still croaking their incantations, but the insects had fallen silent. Animated by the wind, the unseen forest around him whispered like waves on the surface of the sea. He cast his light about, straining his eyes to discern shapes and forms near their camp.

Against his better judgment, he ventured out a little, the dim ray of his phone revealing shrubs and trees cast in a ghostly blueish light. He made a circle around the tent but did not seen anything untoward. Whatever he had heard must have been the product of his imagination or the vestiges of his inebriation. There was nothing outside. Turning around, he—

Tiffany was standing outside the tent. Her eyes were pitch black, and as he came closer he noticed that there was something odd about her smile. Perhaps she, too, was still under the effects of the alcohol.

“Tiffany? What are you…?”

She pressed a finger against her lips, the smile widening into something mischievous in the unnatural glow. “I want to show you something,” she whispered, and slipped away from the light. He could hear her light footsteps as she ran away.

He called out, warning her not to venture too far, but she did not respond. Fearing he would waste precious time if he attempted to wake the others, he ran after her, hoping to catch up with her before she was swallowed by the mountains. Whatever game she was playing, it was not an amusing one, he thought angrily.

He ran ever deeper into the forest, her shape appearing and disappearing like a flickering ghost ahead of him, veering off, only to reappear, taking him, them, deeper into the maze of the night. She slipped away, and for a panicked moment he thought he had lost her for good. But then she reappeared, walking up to him with the same mysterious smile on her face.

“Are you hungry?” she asked. “I’m hungry.” 

There was a strange dreamy edge to her voice, which, trying his best to regain his breath after the long chase, he attributed to the unusual setting.

“Follow me,” she said, darting off again before he could grab hold of her.

Shouting after her, he ran deeper, deeper into the patient night, when all of a sudden they came upon a large mansion in a clearing, out of place but certainly welcome after this mad dash into the unknown. The porch light was on, the promise of a return to the known world after this descent into the irrational. Tiffany was waiting for him on he porch, fidgeting like a child. 

“I bet you didn’t know this was here,” she said as she opened the front door, which was unlocked. “They serve the best food.”

It did not make any sense, but before he could tell her that perhaps it wasn’t a good idea to enter uninvited into someone else’s home at night, he was suddenly overwhelmed with a sensation of terrible hunger, possibly because he hadn’t had much for dinner the night before, not to mention that he had just run a small marathon to catch up with his spookily delinquent girlfriend.

With feet not entirely his own, he followed her inside. What he walked into was a brightly lit grand hall, much wider than seemed possible from the dimension of the house seen from outside. But on this night of insane wanderings, proportions no longer seemed to matter. A long oak table stood at the center of the hall, covered with such an assortment of dishes as he had never contemplated before. Three tall waiters, clothed to perfection, bowed to them and invited them to be seated. Driven by an inexplicable urge, Sam joined Tiffany at the table and sat down in a large chair across from her.

It was a feast for the senses, the delicate textures and exotic flavors mixing to perfection with the grandest wines. Like the mad dash that had led them to this secret place, they plunged into an orgy of gluttony, forgetting all time and space, or the notion that what they were doing made no sense at all. Sam devoured the delicacies as if his life depended on it, as if this was his first and last meal.

* * *

The rescue party found him three days later, a haggard figure, half naked, dazed and emaciated, squatting at the foot of a tall gnarly tree. He was chewing contentedly. On the muddy ground before him were three clay bowls crawling with beetles, centipedes and worms. Tiffany, who was the first to notice that Sam was gone and contacted the park authorities to report him missing, was immensely relieved. She never understood what came over him, knowing with certainty that he wasn’t the type to venture out on his own in the middle of a forest at night. For his part, Sam, who spent a week in hospital, where he was thoroughly examined and fed nutrients through IV, was adamant that what he had experienced was real. Of the alleged mansion where he had feasted, however, not a trace was ever discovered.  

Needless to say, this was their last expedition of this nature. The city was safer indeed, as he had known all along.