chapter 14

Meanwhile, Wendy had cottoned on what was going on with me. Well maybe not everything, but she thought it most strange that she ate so heartily, yet did not put on any weight, yet I ate barely anything at all and I was growing continually. She was somehow donating her flesh to me. She was not sure how that happened, but she wasn't sure how Dixon had become such a glutton either.
She was such a sweet little thing! It was difficult to maintain any aloofness with her. I always tried to stop myself getting too close to my companions. As they grew older, they would become more weak and frail. Eventually they would die. I had the raven's curse of eternal youth. I could never die of old age. Indeed I was not sure if I had been given the gift of full immortality. If I cut myself, I bled, my wounds healed quickly, but what would happen if I received a mortal wound. If I flung myself off the cliffs and I was dashed upon the rocks by the sea, would I drown? Would I be able to walk away, completely uninjured, or would I be severely disabled? I was not about to test any theories out. If I died, would my body betray my real age and turn to dust?
If I got into a relationship with someone, no matter how young and beautiful, would I sit back and watch her grow old and wizened. Would I see her lose her memory and become a shell of her former self as I maintained my youth and fitness.
In my world lifetime relationships were naught but fleeting glimpses of happiness in a long life full of misery.
There was nothing interesting in my life. I was back in my home town, which my only comfort, but I could not go out and enjoy it. I was getting tired. Modern life was a mystery to me. I did not understand the technology. My eighteenth century brain was too slow to comprehend the rules. I came from a time before a national police force. Highwaymen were common. People believed in folklore. Now there were cameras everywhere, watching, monitoring. People were obsessed with themselves, with their appearance.

Then one Friday evening, Wendy bid me to go into town with her. She told me I would enjoy the experience and I would regret it if I did not go.
She helped me dress. Making my larger frame look good. She wanted Dixon to come too. Getting him dressed was a harder task because he was so much bigger. His big fat belly hung over his genitals, ensuring he could not walk only waddle. He was completely obsessed by food these days. All he wanted to do, every waking moment was eat. I had removed my influence from him, thinking it may slow him down somewhat, but it did nothing of the kind.
In the end Wendy decided to leave Dixon behind. He was more interested in eating his way through a veritable banquet of takeaway food that he had ordered. Anyway, he told me, he would have been a liability because he would struggle to walk down the steps and then get back up again.
The steps were, indeed, a daunting prospect for a larger person. I was glad of my cane for support.

The town was busier than I could ever remember it. It was goth weekend. It was full of men, women and teenagers who called themselves goths. They had come dressed for the occasion as punk victorians with the steampunks as support. They were there to be seen. They paraded around the streets, stopping to pose for numerous photographs from anyone who wanted a picture. Wendy and myself got stopped for photographs as well.the photographers were fellow goths as wells as those who had come to town to gawp at the spectacle.
At first, I was not sure whether it would be a good idea to get my photograph taken. But then again, it did not hurt. What harm could it do me?
We slowly paraded around the north shore, up to the railway station, then made our way back to the swing bridge. All the shops were open late to take advantage of the increased passing trade. The Dracula museum was especially busy alongside any other attraction that catered to Whitby's macabre past.
Wendy ate battered scampi, chips and peas wrapped in paper and served from a roadside van.
We ascended the 199 steps up to the abbey. The graveyard was busy with goths posing among the gravestones or against the imposing ruins, but near the church, a stage had been set up for a concert.
The audience was gathering. Hundreds of goths and steampunks of all ages and sizes. The anticipation was almost palpable.
The band came on, more goths it seemed. The music they made was not to my liking at all. It was much too loud, there was too much bass and much too fast. My eighteenth century brain had not understood the rock and roll phenomenon of the 1950's. Now, in 2017, rock and roll had diversified, reinvented itself many, many times. The baroque music of my day had been pushed aside and put under the umbrella of 'classical' music, but I still liked to listen to Handel or Bach on the radiophonic device that Dixon had placed in the kitchen.
Everyone around me was jumping about, singing enthusiastically. I did not want to stand out, so I joined in as best as my plump body would allow.
And what do you know! I had the most fun I'd had in years!
As we made our way back down the steps, amongst the throngs, I even felt hungry. I wondered if I could persuade Wendy to eat another bag of chips and steer her away from the den of an iquity that was the night club.

As Wendy tucked into her chips I knew that I had fallen for her. She looked so beautiful as her raven black hair whipped around her face. She looked over to me and smiled. I was in love. I could not help slipping an arm around her slim corseted waist. She put down her chips for a moment and took my face in her greasy salt and vinegar hands, then she kissed me. I could taste her chips in my mouth. This was no churlish peck on the cheek. This was a full on open mouthed French kiss that lasted for over a minute. It took me by surprise, I must say. I had not been on a proper date with anyone for many a long year, at least not one like this that did not have me influencing the other party to fall for me so that I could suck their fat.
Tonight, I knew I would get my fill from Wendy, but this was different. She was offering herself up to me freely.
She picked up her chips and started eating. She knew it was no use offering me one, but she did so all the same, flirting with me as she did so.
We walked back to the west cliff together slowly and hand in hand.
We passed a restaurant with large picture windows. Inside I saw Dixon. He was seated at a table surrounded by half a dozen beauties in what I would consider to be half naked dresses. They were the height of fashion and showed off several tanned toned long legs as well as a few shorter beefy dimpled ones.
In front of him on the table was a veritable feast of dishes. He sat with his knife and fork at the ready, staring, almost drooling at the food in front of him as the girls flaunted themselves in front of him, rubbing themselves up against him, running their fingers through his hair.
He was given a signal to start and he reached for his first mouthful of food. He pushed it into his mouth and loaded his fork up with his next mouthful while he chewed and swallowed. This was some kind of eating competition he had got himself into. I knew that I should be getting back with Wendy, but it was difficult to tear myself away from such a spectacle.
Dixon kept going, pushing forkful after forkful in his mouth, not caring about how much mess he made or how he looked. The girls encouraged him to eat faster, which he did, hardly chewing and forcing the food down his gullet as fast as he can. He abandoned the use of his utensils and started picking things up with his hands, shoving it all in his mouth. After ten minutes he had already devoured three plates one was laden with a greasy battered chicken covered in a thick sticky barbecue sauce, another had held a thick juicy steak covered in onion gravy. There was a plate of chips, another of crispy onion rings. He was starting on some sausages now, but he was starting to show signs that he was struggling. He was slowing down. He had to sit back to take in fresh gulps of air as his belly swelled. He grabbed a pint of beer next to him and took a long drink, the beer pouring out the sides of the glass as he did so. He put the drink down, but did not bother wiping the frothy moustache the beer had given him, he simply resumed eating with full vigour.
Ten minutes later, his time was up. Most of the plates in front of him were empty. As he sat back to catch his breath, one of the dolly birds leaned over and wiped the excess food from his face with a napkin and made sure he got an eyeful of her breasts as she did so. The glazed look on his face told me he'd been drinking. No doubt he'd been lured into the competition with the bravado of the alcohol inside him.
Now, the girls cheered and fawned over him.
But his ordeal was not over yet. The table was being filled up all over again, this time with dessert plates laced with lots of cream and sugar. It seemed barely possible that he could eat a mouthful more, nevermind a whole table full of tempting delicacies.
The girls were giving him a good rest. I walked away. I could not bear to watch any longer as Dixon was bound to lose this time.
My mind focussed on other things. I had to ascend the steps up to the west cliff to get home. I was not looking forward to it. Climbing the 199 steps to the abbey had been difficult and slow. I was too big and cumbersome to run up them lithe and nimble. I knew that by the time I reached home, I would be completely exhausted, out of breath and very warm. But with Wendy by my side, I was sure I could do it.