Martha

Chapter 1

Feedback appreciated.
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Dear Reader,

I know you don’t believe in the supernatural like your sister. But I’m writing to you to share the haunting story of my best friend and the ghost that possessed her. Emily and I had been ghost hunting together for years; we first met in a paranormal investigation group. We had a shared interest in exploring the macbre and unknown. Over time, we formed a close bond, working together on numerous investigations, sharing our experiences and insights with one another.

We eventually received a call from a remote restauranteur who was experiencing some strange and unexplained occurrences in their place of business. The owner informed us that every woman was becoming a regular, sneaking in behind their loved ones’ backs, ordering copious amounts of food and stuff themselves until they weren’t able to move. Only to eventually leave and come back not 30 minutes later with their families and do it all over again. The owner suspected that there was something unnatural causing this behavior and reached out for assistance. We were intrigued and concerned by the reports and decided to investigate further.

As we began our investigation, we were inundated with strong evidence of something. Positive EMF readings, cold spots, etc. and it drove us to do more research on the facility. We found through rumor and circumstance that a woman had once died there; we couldn’t find any information on her in the local records office. But apparently, she was a notorious glutton, known for her insatiable appetite and her obsession with rich, fatty foods. According to the scuttlebutt, she ate herself to death, somehow. The restaurant staff was a little vague, their statements were only really hushed watercooler talk. But still, there had to be something to it, given the amount of evidence we were already gathering. She must not have been able to move on from her earthly cravings.

But as our research continued, I felt something was amiss. Emily became increasingly obsessed with this case, spending long hours researching and investigating. She would disappear on me, only to have me find her at the library or the records office, eyes glued to a local history book with the remnants of some take away cluttered around her.

It wasn’t until I noticed Emily’s softened love handles bulging over the waistband over her tight, ill-fitting jeans and a slight pot belly peaking beneath her shirt that I started to suspect Emily was being affected by whatever malevolent force we were uncovering here. It frightened me, we had never encountered something like this before, and I was overwhelmed by guilt that I hadn’t noticed anything sooner. In what would be our last meeting with our client, I told him we had to stop our investigation due to personal reasons, and that we would refund him his money. Emily was furious with me. As soon as the door to the restaurant shut behind us and we were out on the street, she exploded saying that I “had no right” and that we were “so close to finding the truth.” She stormed off shortly after.

I ended up packing the van back at our hotel by myself. Eventually, she came back despite all my calls and texts to get ahold of her, but when I saw her, I was aghast. She slowly waddled to the side van door, slid it open and clambered inside. Her belly was swollen tight, her pants were unbuttoned, allowing her gut to roll slightly into her lap. She had a dollop of frosting in the corner of her mouth, and she plopped next to her a box of donuts, at least two dozen in count. Her breathing was shallow and despite me trying to get her attention, she just ignored me and shoved a new confectionary in her mouth. Despite the open road being noisy, I could hear her grunting and groaning as she plowed through the box of donuts. I glanced back at her when I suspected she was finished, and her eyes were shut, a pained look on her face as she clutched her overtaxed belly with frosted hands, her cheeks chipmunked as she struggled to finish the last donut. She continued to ignore my attempts at conversation. Even though she’s still mad, at least I got her away from that place.

If only that were the end of the story.

When we made it back to our hometown, I dropped Emily off at her front door. She didn’t even speak, she just carefully slid out clutching her gut and slowly made her way to her front entry. Unlocking the door, she slipped inside and turned off the porch light. I’m not going to lie; it pissed me off a bit. I’m just looking out for her like we’ve done for countless investigations, and she’s being a little diva about it. I rationalized with myself that she’d have to call and apologize to me for acting like a child. I drove home, climbed into bed, and fell asleep.