BUFFET
It is the Halloween short story — embodiment of forced reproduction, internal violation, and guilt weaponized into digestion.
CASE #0127 — “THE FLY INCIDENT”
Excerpt from the interview conducted on March 2nd, 1958, Cambridge Mental Institution.
Subject: Rowena Fletcher, female, 26.
It began with darkness — endless nothingness. Until light came, and the most horrifying things crawled out to feed on it. Perhaps to worship it, like moths to flame. Call it myth or legend, but the fact remains buried, buzzing, still alive
The following interview is taken from Rowena Fletcher, a 26-year-old patient currently residing in Fulbourn Hospital, just outside Cambridge. The woman claimed she was attacked in the middle of the night by a mysterious being that emerged from her kitchen sink. Police investigated the apartment for any signs of forced entry but found none. Only a clogged sewer pipe filled with chunks of skin, hair, and larvae.
Interviewer: Mrs. Fletcher, please, tell us what happened.
Rowena Fletcher: It was the middle of the night. Yes, yes. Perhaps half an hour past two... The tap in my kitchen kept dripping. Creating louder and more frequent ripples. Drip. Drip. It kept dripping. It nearly felt like it was going to overfill my sink. And I knew it was impossible, after all, it wasn’t clogged. I always kept my sink spotless. Never a fruit fly in sight. No, no... [static] So I tried falling back asleep. I tried. But sounds.. I kept getting chills. It felt like the temperature dropped. I could not focus on anything else. Just my fingers... freezing. Only to hear the pipes rustling. The ripple sounds have increased. Now slowly pouring over the counter... Enough to make me sit up in my bed. It is very dark mind you, so the only light is from outside. The window is set right in the doorway. So as I sit, I notice the puddle that has started to form. It kept coming. Dripping. And pouring. My wooden cabinet is sucking the gut-curling moisture... And I couldn’t... It is like fear has paralyzed me. And perhaps it did. Since the more I watched, the more I realized that I shouldn’t. That all of it is forbidden. [pause] It is not natural... Because there is no way that a sewer rat could climb up my pipes.
Interviewer: You have mentioned before a mysterious being. Could you tell us more about it?
Rowena Fletcher: My grandmother told me a legend a long time ago. About an ancient entity. A body of a man, but the mouth of a fruit fly. The entity would show once a month to a person randomly chosen. [static] It could be anyone... If you remember it, that means it has infected you with his [pause] maggots... That is how he reproduces.
Interviewer: So you got infected, is that right?
Rowena Fletcher: No... There is another thing the entity looks for as well... Food.
Interviewer: Apologies... Could you explain, please? What do you mean by food?
Rowena Fletcher: I looked at it too long, at the figure morphing out of my kitchen sink. The smell of sewer and rot... [pause] It began shuffling straight. The shadow - growing. Feet directed at me. I think it smelled so bad that I could no longer smell anything else. So it made slowing my heart a little easier... [pause] It kept walking. The wet, moldy feet stepping onto the carpet. It brought even more chills down my back. But... then I saw it. [static] The mouth. Like a flimsy tube. It writhed like a bag of worms trying to breathe. Huge. Near the size of my entire face. And those eyes... sunken and yet bright enough when watching me. Catching anyone, like a deer in the headlights. And I was already uncomfortable, dressed in my sleeping gown and waiting for my husband to come home... Just for a man to invade my home? Well, not a man... But- [static] ugh... Well, so I tried to lie down, to hide... Maybe it didn’t see me. Maybe it did. It..- Maybe I just imagined it. Like we all do when we are young. Imagination wild... Hallucinations. Or perhaps it could have been just a nightmare.
Interviewer: Is this the reason you decided to remain here for the rest of the year? It has been eight months, yes? I believe it must be your fifth anniversary today. Such a loss must be traumatizing.
Rowena Fletcher: Yes... Eight months, and I still can feel that mouth attach onto my face. Still feel the bruises of that inhuman weight sinking me down into the mattress. Still smell the bile... I- I tried.. I felt it.. Tasted.. M-my arms held [crying] and squeezed close to my body. It’s face hovering above mine... Slowly sucking the life out of me. I felt my lungs constrict. I tried to kick. Tried to move. But I can only remember jerking my body. Crying... only to see the light flicker. The eyes... headlights. I.. [pause] I think his whole body pulsated as he...
Interviewer: Ma'am, are you alright?
Rowena Fletcher: N-no.. [static] No. It... I don’t remember.. He.. He was there. He was. My husband. No. I screamed, they didn’t hear. Why? Why didn’t they hear? The bruises? Have they not looked for bruises? He hurt me! He hurt me! The— [static]the, that.... No.. That tongue. The thing.. He he.. There was my husband. Where is my husband?
Interviewer: Rowena, please, it is—
Rowena Fletcher: No! Where is he?! [crying] I know he is still there!
Interviewer: Who is?
Rowena Fletcher: I feel him... Oooh, I still do. Mhmm, it is like he is in me. Still in me. The spine. Buzzing. He kept buzzing. Laying. Wet.. The floors, the carpet, the bed... The smell, God, [crying] that smell... He is in me. The devil. Clawing out... They didn’t even look. Those bastards..—
Interviewer: Look where?
Rowena Fletcher: Inside, where else... I pulled maggots, inside me. My head... Sticky... He made me eat it — he made me eat him. I still have flesh between my teeth. Victor’s eyes turning white... Sticky.. It all tasted metal. Rotten. Like acid. The flesh.
The recorder was shut off shortly afterward.
The further we dug into Rowena Fletcher’s memories, the more lost she became — her sanity fractured after consuming her husband, Victor. Not long after, we received a call from the Fulbourn Hospital: Rowena was dead. Her body had succumbed to internal toxins. Her stomach and womb, slowly dissolving, had been consumed from within by larvae.
Case closed: March 11th, 1958.
File sealed under Order 73A - “Unexplained Fatalities: Biohazard Containment.”
Notes
The story was born from a simple word while I was thinking of what word to use for Halloween themed writing with my friends. The word was fly. Fly as in flying and as that annoying little thing with wings. It truly is a mash-up of various things. Books, movies.
Each gossip between girls feels confidential. It is a top secret. And what, or rather who, tends to be more annoying than flies? Men. So I had to make it play the part.
While the initial theme for this story is cannibalism, I think it could be slowly touching on a few more topics.
Discussion
How would the story change if it were set in a modern psychiatric institution rather than 1958?
Does the fly-man follow a mythological pattern? What stories or monsters does it remind you of?
Can horror stories like this help us process real trauma — or do they risk exploiting it?
If remembering the entity is what spreads it… are we now infected, too?
© 2025 Juste Mil. All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without the permission of the author.
It felt so Cronenbergian.
Tasty piece 🥩🥩🥩
Prompt for all fiction writers to use discussion points at the end of their posts!
This was excellently dark and menacing, thank you for sharing