Chronicle XXVIII

“THE KITCHEN’S ALWAYS HOT WHEN CASSEROLIO COOKS!”

“Cut.”

“Again?!” the celebrity chef fumed.

“If you don’t have any energy, there’s no show.” the newly appointed producer, Delilah said, marking her first day and a new season of ‘Casserolio Cooks!’.

“Don’t you hear me YELLING MY INTRO in all caps?”

“Yelling takes energy, it doesn’t give energy. Again.” she directed.

The cameras and lighting readied for Casserolio’s performance. He took a moment and then repeated his intro. This time, he prepared something special.

“The kitchen is ALWAYS HOT-” he paused as two carrots he had been rubbing together to create a small flame shot out from behind his apron towards the center of the set. Through the flame, he sent a cluster of peas that each picked up the flames as they filled the frame of the camera. “-When Casserolio cooks.” Casserolio smiled wide and closed his eyes, arms out to his sides.

“Cut.” Delilah again demanded.

“YOU’RE KIDDING.” Casserolio looked around the room to find his producer. His eyes landed on her and found her doubled over laughing with other members of the crew.

“Yes, yes… we’re kidding. You’re a trooper. Just wanted to welcome you back to the set in a fun way.”

“HA!!!! Thought I was going to have to hire a new producer.”

“I can’t believe you shot flaming food for me!”

“Not for you; I did it for the show. I look forward to filming all year.”

“Well, good. We have a lot of filming to do. I’m happy you chose me for this position. I’m proud of all this show does.” Delilah held a panicked face for a second. “I totally forgot. Terry came by earlier for you, said it was urgent.”

“I’ll call him now.” Casserolio stepped off the set and placed the call. He tried a few times, but there was no answer. Afterwards, he returned to set and proceeded with the show as usual.

Filming wrapped for the day and Cass still hadn’t gotten in touch with Terry. He visited the back of the large warehouse where his foundation was based. Food from the show would be dumped from the front of the warehouse to the back to be sorted and shipped to underfed areas of the world. Terry managed the foundation, making certain all the food from the show, and additional donations from Casserolio were properly distributed.

Entering the food storage room, he noticed the employees were all standing around. Conveyor belts were empty, bins were empty, and everyone looked at him as if something was going on.

“What, I got some meat in my stache?” Cass joked. Everyone laughed, but only because he was the boss. “Where’s Terry?”

A couple people pointed to the dividing wall of the warehouse, where all the set’s leftovers were piled - typically a mountain of fresh food. As Casserolio passed through the doorway, he noticed the lights were off. The room was pitch black towards the large food-catching buckets. There was a noise coming from the area like a raccoon rummaging through a dumpster. What Casserolio discovered there wasn’t much different. Just more disturbing.

“Terry?” Cass said loudly into the darkness. A snarl was the only reply. He flipped on the lights and witnessed the director of his foundation, ‘Casserolio Cares’ scarfing down a mountain of food. His body was stretched beyond normal limits. Terry’s waist became the width of the massive food bucket and his stomach was being used as a table to prepare the next thing he would eat.

“Wha- what’s going on, buddy?” Casserolio said, trepidatious.

“Chop!” Terry turned to see his old friend, using the name affectionately given to Casserolio when he scored the world record for fastest, smoothest and most consistently spaced food chopper. “You gotta get me more. Your food… it’s so… mmmm.” His eyes rolled to the back of his head as he relived the ecstasy of eating all the food that was meant for charitable causes.

“No more food, Terry. Let’s get you some help.”

“NO.” Terry replied, his hands flying down to slap the ground and pull himself towards Casserolio across the room, dragging the bucket beneath him.

“Terry, whoa whoa. Stop!” Cass warned.

Just when Terry was coming up to the jovial chef, Cass covered the floor between them in dough. The bucket stopped, but Terry did not. He dragged himself out of the bucket and up to Casserolio.

“These hands!” he grabbed Cass’ thick hands and his eyes rolled back down. “These hands gotta feed me.” Terry begged.

“Okay, Terry.” Casserolio obliged. He began to conjure food in the air between them. He watched the freakish, gruesome sight of the bloated giant chomping for the small bite of greens floating there. “I’m sorry.”

Casserolio saw Terry grasping at his hands again and then at his own throat. The chef of goodwill had to put an end to his friend’s despair and misery. He had created a cassava plant, a deadly poison when consumed raw. Terry choked and keeled over, employees crowding behind Casserolio to console his loss.

“This happens, boss… Good food can kill.”

When the police came to the site, they had no questions.

“Ate himself to death.” the investigators stated, dragging out the sloppy mess of a body.

Casserolio stood at the exit and looked back into the warehouse, where employees stood, unsure what to do as shipments were expected. He raised his hands and food began to materialize all around, filling everyone’s buckets. Back in the storage room, he filled the larger buckets that had been purged of Terry’s sweat and pressure cleaned.

“Nobody goes hungry.” he assured his team, leaving the building to find a new Terry.