Originally posted back in 2018, John Eats Alaskan Pie, has continued to creep me out for 5+ years. Enough so that I gave it a second look. It has been broken up into two stories (Family Planning* and John Eats Alaskan Pie). A chilling read perfect for this frightfully cold and Wintery weather!
John had always been a particularly unnerving man. So much so, that if you were a twelve year old boy standing in the walk-in-pantry, facing the wall when the door to the kitchen opened the hair on your arms would raise straight up in the air. Goosebumps would form and ripple across your whole body. Before you could turn around to see who opened the kitchen door, you would already know it was John. Which is exactly what happened to Edgar, who feeling his uneasiness reaching an insurmountable level turned around to see who had opened the kitchen door.
“Ahh,” Edgar yelped as he jumped back. “Err, hi Uncle John,” he added as he straightened himself out.
“Hello Edgar,” his uncle replied as his eyes sized the child up.
Edgar’s eyes mirrored his uncle’s and searched. The scratchy, lose yarn from Uncle John’s sweater tickled Edgar’s arm. If he went to pass, Edgar would have to brush against his uncle. He shifted his weight to his other foot and counted his breaths as he waited.
“What do you have there,” his uncle asked him?
John leaned closer, his own breath hot against Edgar’s fingers. Edgar pulled back the jar, pushing himself back into the pantry.
“Come, Edgar. Don’t be so clumsy,” John said reaching out to save the jar and the child. “It appears to be marmalade. It’s lovely on toast. Sit, I’ll make some toast for us.”
Edgar got a grip on himself. He had just been startled by his uncle’s presence. He knew from his mother that John had been going through a hard time at home which is why he was staying with them in the first place. His cousin, Glenda, John’s daughter was only a few months younger or older than Edgar. He could never quite remember which, but he did remember that she was the reason that sometimes John seemed to get too close, to be too helpful. At least that’s what his mom said. Weird, yes, but completely harmless.
~
John didn’t have to work, so he certainly had time to have toast and marmalade with Edgar. The arrangement between himself and his wife was very simple. He would go and stay with the family they had in Alaska, while she and Glenda remained in the continental US. Their loyalties would remain with each other, and then would remain married.
He placed the jar of marmalade on the counter. The glass sliding across the recently wiped down surface. His sister had raised a lovely child. Organized, neat, hard working. The boy worked so hard he barely had any body fat. How he had survived in the winter months baffled John who had thought about it often enough.
He had to pay out of his meager savings the first few weeks he had been here. His sister laughed at him, you don’t even know what cold is, if you think this is bad. He hadn’t asked Mrs. Loeber for the balance. It had already been worked out that she would send him a monthly sum that covered his rent and expenses to keep him from having a full time job. The extra money went to proving the best for Glenda, and if there was any after that it would be for Mrs, Loeber to live her own life. It was unfortunate really, but in the end, it was the only way for everyone to have their own happiness.
John looked at the slices of bread as he slid them into the toaster oven. Baking bread made his sister happy. He was sure Edgar had the same skillset. Able to repair equipment like his father, run a household like his mother. John possessed neither skill, then again, he hadn’t really had a relationship with either of his parents.
He still didn’t, but for the most part John was happy. He had been happier when he had first moved out here and Mrs. Loeber and Glenda had come more often. Once a year for a full month to see him and the rest of the family. Unlike John, Mrs. Loeber had always gotten along with her family.
The door on the toast over sprang closed pulling John from his reverie. He blinked, the glare from the sun had painted his eyesight green. He hadn’t noticed he was looking outside. John turned, taking a sharp breath when he saw Edgar at the kitchen island writing on a long piece of rectangular paper. Probably a shopping list or something.
Edgar was grounded, focused. John appreciated that. Too often he would find himself places, dark places in his mind, physical places too. As if he was only partially attached to his corporal form.
The ripe smell of outside tickled at John’s nose. They hadn’t been outside playing. He hadn’t even seen Glenda over the past two years. Mrs. Loeber had come alone, for three weeks instead of the traditional four or five.
Glenda hadn’t come — middle school, filled with all of its activities. She was in scouting, the school play, choir, and a competitive league for a made-up sport. Mrs. Loeber hadn’t told him much about it. He hoped it was because she didn’t understand, Lord knew there was a lot that woman couldn’t nail down, and not because it was some sort of fantasy game. John shudder at the thought. When he was in school boys used to huddle around a table drawing cards, rolling dice, making up stories about dragons and magic. Horrible stuff.
The Glenda he knew, the one he was raising wouldn’t be into that sort of thing. Not that he really saw her as an athlete either. She was taller than most of the girls in class, lankier, and thin. Her pale skin, almost translucent, stretched over her thin bones. Her white-blonde hair in frizzed puffs. She had seemed to manage something of a style with it in the last picture Mrs. Loeber had sent him. It had been taken the school year before she stopped coming to see him.
He had wondered if it was because of the kids at school. He saw the news programs. Kids these days started teasing and bully each other much younger. Especially the girls, nothing was worse than a jealous woman. Bullying from other girls would give Glenda character though, unlike pressure from the boys. That could lead to much worse.
It wasn’t just the hair that had changed. In the picture she had been wearing a tank top and a cardigan. Her hair fell over one shoulder, not styled, but he could see it had been draped carefully, landing on the top of her budding breast.
A bell rang out. John blinked again. A quiet classroom faded to the endless woods that made up the property’s backyard. The smell of toast directed his eye sight back to the toaster oven. A muffled sound droned over his thoughts.
“Oh yes, please. I’m sorry. I thought I had answered you,” John said.
He turned his neck to see Edgar standing on his side of the island now.
~
Edgar stood and walked around the island. He had asked his uncle if he wanted orange juice twice but the man hadn’t moved. He wondered if he had seen an animal outback. It could take years to get used to some of the wildlife they saw out here. Edgar had lived here his whole life but it didn’t matter how many times he saw an eagle it took his breath away.
Even after Edgar had gotten the orange juice out and placed it on the eating side of the counter John still hadn’t moved. He was just standing there, facing the toaster, silhouette against the window, his hand was resting near his front pocket. Edgar saw the movement against the fabric and turned to face the cabinet. His cheeks felt hotter than after he jumped in the creek the first day of every Winter.
John hadn’t done anything wrong. Edgar knew that. He was a young man, not a little boy. He knew things. He felt things and even did things when his urges took over and no one was around. It was usually at night or in the morning. Sometimes when he was fishing with his friends over the summer and the girls who had gotten too cool to fish wanted to lay out and sun. Edgar quietly opened the cabinet and grabbed two glasses.
He felt the heat from his cheeks cooling with his back turned toward John. Edgar poured two juices and returned the jug to the fridge. By the time he was done the toaster dinged. Normal wasn’t a word a person could use for John on a good day. But he was back to himself and seated at the table with the toast and the marmalade.
“Well, that was nice,” John said when they had finished their morning snack.
“Yeah, it was,” Edgar said.
His family made the best bread and marmalade in the area. There would be a line around the whole town almost when his mother would decide to take orders. There was nothing their homemade goods couldn’t fix.
“If you’ll be a good boy and clean up, I must go and get ready. Not sure if I mentioned it, but Mrs. Loeber will be coming in early tomorrow morning and I need to pick her up from the airport. I won’t be back until sometime late as she’s flying into Anchorage.”
Edgar looked up as John stood and walked away from the table before he could respond.
~
John had driven for just about 19 hours, and that wasn’t including the time he stopped over near Dot Lake. Nor was it including the time it would take him to get to the airport to pick up Mrs. Loeber and return back to the cabin. He could barely remember anything from the drive up, but had been sure to jot notes at every stop, including crossing the Canadian and American borders. He could always review his notes later, but the last solidified memory he had was leaving Edgar sitting at the table sometime a few minutes before 10:00 AM. John had wanted to get on the road between 10:00 AM and 10:30 AM.
He glanced at his watch; the time read 5:28 AM. Approvingly, he nodded to himself. He thought once more about Edgar, again he could feel the familiar pull against his pants. It wasn’t Edgar, exactly, it was the closeness. John felt a wistful feeling beginning to take over him, once more he glanced at his watch. There was no time to think of Glenda or Edgar, he couldn’t lose himself to his thoughts, but there would be time later Once he had brought in his kill, skinned it, butchered it, and set it up for use three weeks from now then there would be time.
John removed his clothes, folding them neatly and placing them onto the rocking chair in the corner. He glanced over toward the bed and once more down at his awakening penis. No time, he reminded himself. Nothing had been set up yet.
He felt the tight stretch of latex as his tugged on his gloves. The shoe covers and hair cap were easy. The spandex bodysuit made him grateful he hadn’t eaten since lunch. After adjusting himself against the skin tight material, he slid his latex gloves into a larger pair of rubber ones. He opened the scrubs and the blankets from their medically sealed bags, the only good thing to ever come from living with his wife in Georgia. He hated mess, no matter how much he loved the reward.
When all was said and done John had about 2 pounds of meat a week for a whole year. He would still make a trip every three months or so out to Fairbanks to check on his cabin, pick up some more frozen meat to bring home, and find solace in the empty space. It was different than being alone in Juneau. It wasn’t New York City, but there was too much hustle and bustle for John. Too much noise. No real connections. He much preferred the quiet, less assertive sense of living. No need for a hundred television stations or dozens of radio stations playing all the time. Just being in the family room, surrounded by family, books, newspapers, and soft music playing on the gramophone. Being alone in his cabin it stirred the parts of John’s heart that fueled his passion. It wasn’t like the oppressive weight of being isolated by family. This kind of silence was heavenly. Probably the only Heaven John would ever really know.
It took a little over an hour for John to breakdown the entire body and to set up the drying process. As always he would have liked to allow the body to cool for a full 24 hours before the butchering and aging process began, but with the Canadian border cutting through his trek to the cabin and airport twice he could only allow the carcass to sit cool for 16 hours or so.
John looked down at his layered body, a rounded offshoot that pulsed in the air between his feet. He still had another hour before he had to head out for the airport. Heading back in from the shed John stopped at the outdoor shower. Being so far north it wasn’t really a shower, but more of a stall where if he remembered to boil water before he got to butchering, he would be able to bathe himself with the lukewarm water when he was done.
John opened the door, reached in to grab the boiled water. Returning to the outside stall he peeled off his rubber gloves and removed all his layers depositing them directly into the fire pit. He made his way barefoot and freezing to the shower stall once more and began to wash his body. It was too cold for him to take his time reveling in his delight over his work, but he had time enough for quick celebration.
All he had left to do was to take two Shepherd’s Pies out of the freezer — his and the one he made especially for Mrs. Loeber — before he could get that fire going to take away the chill he had acquired while bathing.
John had done just that, and was back on the road at 8:13 AM. Assuming the trip went the way it always went he would be arriving at 2:05 PM. Mrs. Loeber’s flight was scheduled to land at 1:45 PM which meant that she would be waiting on her bench, the same bench she waited on every year, for him. He would get out of the car, open the passenger’s side door for her, put her luggage in the back seat of the car, and then they would drive to his cabin. They would discuss the weather, her work, her health, and then for the remaining five hours they would discuss Glenda.
~
“Here we are, dear,” John said as he parked the car and killed the lights.
“Lovely. Dinner is defrosting next to the stove, I presume?”
John nodded.
“I’ll bring in your overnight bag. The rest we can unpack when we get to Juneau. Does that suit you?”
“You know it does,” Mrs. Loeber said.
John watched his wife waddle her way inside the cabin. She was only a yearly visitor her, but she remembered every step as if it was only a few weeks ago. She even knew when to stoop forward to avoid hitting her head on the branches and the frame of the front door.
He had been taken by her height since middle school, and all these years later the interested had never waned. Originally John was supposed to be paired with Edgar’s mother. John knew it was his responsibility to follow the path created for him, but felt an immense relief when she had broken away from the traditions of their community, their family. She was still peripherally around, but she didn’t fit the way she used to — if she ever really had. His father had suggested it would have made the match between her and John that much stronger. To think that man knew anything. . . John dropped the overnight bag in the bedroom and made his way into the kitchen of his cabin.
“Now, which pie is which,” Mrs. Loeber asked.
The top of John’s head barely rose above her shoulder as he approached her from behind. On tipped toes he reached, exceedingly careful not to touch as much as the fabric of her dress, he pointed to a pie
“This is the Shepard’s Pie with ground beef, no scallions, and extra butter,” John said.
His finger floating above the pie to the left.
“And this,” he continued, “is the Shepard’s Pie with my special blend, aged 21 days, with no scallions or any extra butter.”
Mrs. Loeber looked at her husband’s pie, “which tribe?”
“Tlingit,” he began, “approximately 16 years old —”
John’s voice trailed off. It was rare, but even he forgot himself sometimes. He took a step away from Mrs. Loeber and reached into the cabinet by his feet, “these are for you,” he continued as he procured a beautiful bouquet of flowers.
“You can be so sweet, Mr. Florin,” Mrs. Loeber said as she admired her flowers, “just so thoughtful.”
*Family Planning release date — 12/26/23
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