“YOU MUST STAY IN THE ROOM WHILE I EAT LUNCH,” HE TOLD ME THREE YEARS AGO. “BUT WITH YOUR BACK TO THE WALL, AND DON’T TURN AROUND UNTIL I’VE EATEN EVERY LAST CRUMB.”

I NODDED. “HOW WILL I KNOW—”

“I’LL TELL YOU WHEN I’M DONE,” HE INTERRUPTED SHARPLY, ANTICIPATING MY QUESTION.

AND WHEN I MADE THE MISTAKE OF BREAKING HIS ONE RULE, I SAW SOMETHING TERRIFYING.

I HATE TO DISAPPOINT YOU, BUT I WON’T PUT MYSELF IN DANGER BY NAMING THIS WORLD-FAMOUS FIGURE. I’VE KEPT A LOW PROFILE SINCE FEBRUARY, PRAYING I NEVER CROSS PATHS WITH HIM AGAIN. I MOVED FROM LOS ANGELES TO TORONTO, PUTTING OVER THREE THOUSAND KILOMETERS OF DESERT, MOUNTAINS, AND FORESTS BETWEEN THAT MAN AND ME. STILL, I FEEL WATCHFUL EYES ON ME. EVERY DAY. I FEAR HE WANTS TO SILENCE ME BEFORE I REVEAL HIS SECRET.

THAT’S WHY I WON’T TELL YOU TO FLEE L.A. NOWHERE IS SAFE FROM HIM. INSTEAD, I HOPE TELLING THIS STORY HERE WILL MAKE HIM THINK TWICE BEFORE SILENCING ME. YOU’RE ABOUT TO DISCOVER THE TRUTH, SO HE’LL HAVE TO BE CAREFUL IN THE FUTURE. RIGHT? I KNOW I HAVEN’T NAMED HIM, BUT I’VE SHINED A LIGHT ON THE HORRORS OF THE HILLS.

THIS IS A HOLLYWOOD ICON, AND I COOKED HIS LUNCHES AND DINNERS EVERY DAY FROM NOVEMBER 2021 TO FEBRUARY 2024. BUT DURING ONE PARTICULAR LUNCH, AN ACT OF CARELESSNESS ENDED MY EMPLOYMENT.

A PITA BREAD TOPPED WITH ROASTED GREEN ONIONS, CHILI FLAKES, AND FETA CHEESE. THAT WAS THE DISH. A MODEST LUNCH FOR A MAN WHO CLAIMED TO BE MODEST. PERFECTLY NORMAL FOOD. I DIDN’T SERVE HIM THE HEART OF A DEAD BABY. OR THE RIBS OF SOME FAMOUS RIVAL. JUST A LIGHT, NOURISHING DISH TO FILL THE GAP BETWEEN BREAKFAST AND DINNER.

THAT DAY WAS LIKE ANY OTHER, SO I DON’T KNOW WHY I DID IT. I LOOKED, I MEAN. I HAD SPENT THREE YEARS COOKING FOR MY CLIENT AND HAD NEVER QUESTIONED HIS ONLY RULE BEFORE. I NEVER DREAMED OF DISOBEYING HIM SINCE HE PAID AN ABSURDLY HIGH SALARY. NOT UNTIL ONE ORDINARY DAY IN LATE FEBRUARY.

I SET THE PITA BREAD ON THE TABLE, WENT TO THE KITCHEN COUNTER, AND FOCUSED MY GAZE ON THE WALL IN FRONT OF ME. I STAYED THERE, FIDDLING WITH MY THUMBS AND WAITING PATIENTLY WHILE HE ATE LOUDLY.

IT WAS SOMETHING I ALWAYS NOTICED. THE SOUND. THE SQUISHES AND SMACKS OF HIS LIPS, TONGUE, AND TEETH MEETING DIFFERENT TEXTURES OF FOOD. I DON’T HAVE MISOPHONIA, BUT THIS MAN MANAGED TO MAKE NOISES THAT DISTURBED ME COMPLETELY.

I DON’T MIND PEOPLE TALKING WHILE THEY EAT. I DON’T MIND PEOPLE EATING WITH THEIR MOUTHS OPEN. NO, THE SOUND OF HIS FEAST BOTHERED ME BECAUSE IT ALWAYS SEEMED LIKE MORE THAN ONE PERSON EATING.

THERE WERE EVEN DISTANT SOUNDS THAT I BECAME CONVINCED WERE TINY VOICES, AS IF THE MAN HAD BEEN HIDING FRIENDS IN THE KITCHEN BEHIND ME FOR FOUR YEARS. AS IF THEY WERE TALKING TO EACH OTHER IN LOW TONES. MUTTERING STRANGE PHRASES. NOT FOOD CRITIQUES BUT COMMENTS ON CULTURE. COMMENTS ABOUT COUNTRIES AND HISTORIES.

“THIS TELLS US… IN THE MALAYSIAN MOUNTAINS… FOUR HUNDRED YEARS AGO…”

THE FRAGMENTS OF INFORMATION WERE ALWAYS TOO LOW TO BE COMPLETELY DISTINCT. SURE, IT WAS THE WET SOUNDS AND SMACKS THAT CAUGHT MOST OF MY ATTENTION.

I TRIED TO MAKE SOFTER MEALS, HOPING THAT WOULD RESULT IN QUIETER CHEWING. I SERVED YOGURT, RISOTTO, AND THE LIKE. NO MATTER WHAT I TRIED, THE SOUNDS NEVER DIMINISHED. AND I KNEW IT WASN’T A MALICIOUS JOKE. HE WASN’T SHARING A MEAL WITH HIDDEN GUESTS. THOUGH I CERTAINLY WOULDN’T HAVE BEEN THE FIRST WOMAN TO FIND MYSELF ON THE RECEIVING END OF HIS ECCENTRICITIES.

BELIEVE ME. OVER THE YEARS, I IMAGINED SEVERAL SCENARIOS IN MY HEAD, BUT NONE SEEMED RIGHT. NONE OF THEM CHILLED ME WHILE THAT HORRIFYING MAN ATE, SO I FINALLY SNAPPED. SOMETHING OVERCAME ME. MADNESS, I SUPPOSE, BORN FROM YEARS WORKING IN AN EXHAUSTING ENVIRONMENT. ALL FOR A GOOD SUM OF MONEY.

WELL, I HAD REACHED MY LIMIT. THE MONEY NO LONGER MATTERED. I HAD TO KNOW.

I TURNED AWAY FROM THE WALL.

THE MAN AT THE KITCHEN TABLE WASN’T EATING. NOT IN THE HUMAN SENSE. THE SIDES OF HIS FACE OPENED LIKE THE PEEL OF AN ORANGE, REVEALING NEITHER FLESH NOR BONE UNDERNEATH. THERE WAS A CRATER IN HIS SKULL. A CRATER INTO WHICH HE WAS STUFFING TORN STRIPS OF MY CAREFULLY PREPARED PITA BREAD. THE FOOD DIDN’T DISAPPEAR INTO A MOUTH. THERE WAS NO MOUTH BENEATH THE CELEBRITY’S UNBUTTONED FACE.

BITS OF BREAD AND TOPPINGS PASSED BY A DOZEN ROLLING EYEBALLS, EACH WITH BLACK SCLERA, WHITE IRIS, AND RED PUPIL. INHUMAN EYES. EYES THAT WEREN’T CONSUMING THE FOOD BUT LETTING THE BROKEN PIECES SLIDE OVER THEIR ROLLING SURFACES, AS IF THEY WERE ABSORBING SECRETS FROM THE FOOD. LEARNING SOMETHING FROM IT. AND THE PITA BREAD DIDN’T DISAPPEAR INTO THE BODY BENEATH. IT DISSOLVED IN THE BLACK, WATERY FILM COVERING THOSE MANY EYES.

I WAS TOO TERRIFIED TO SCREAM, BUT I HAD BEEN CAUGHT.

THE CELEBRITY STOPPED. HIS HAND STAYED IN THE AIR, AND THOSE MANY EYES, COVERED WITH THE DISSOLVED CRUMBS OF MY FOOD, TURNED TO LOOK AT ME.

THEN HE BEGAN TO TREMBLE VIOLENTLY, CRUSHING THE REMAINING PITA IN HIS PALM. I LET OUT A WEAK WHIMPER AS PIECES OF BREAD FELL AGAINST THE PORCELAIN PLATE BELOW. MY EYES HAD ALREADY FIXED ON THE KITCHEN DOOR AND THE HALLWAY BEYOND. THE FRONT DOOR WAS IN SIGHT, AND MY WEAK LEGS CARRIED ME TOWARD IT.

BUT THE MAN DIDN’T NEED TO RISE TO CHASE ME. HE EXTENDED HIS ARM FORWARD, AND A LONG, REPTILIAN TENTACLE RIPPED THROUGH HIS OPEN PALM. IT ESCAPED ITS PRISON OF HUMAN SKIN AND THEN LUNGED ACROSS THE KITCHEN TOWARD ME.

I WAS ALREADY CROSSING THE HALLWAY WHEN THE SCALY, HISSING LIMB SLASHED TOWARD ME. I FELT ITS RANCID BREATH AGAINST MY BACK, TEARING MY SHIRT AS IT HUNTED FOR MY FLESH. NOT TO EAT BUT TO WASH OVER HIS MANY EYEBALLS. HE WANTED TO ABSORB ME. TO STUDY ME. AND AS I THOUGHT OF ALL THE WOMEN HE’D CONQUERED OVER THE YEARS, THE MANY CASES THAT HAD COME AND ‘GONE,’ I WONDERED IF ANY OF THEM HAD MET THAT FATE.

I FUMBLED WITH THE LATCH FOR AN ETERNAL SECOND, FLUNG THE DOOR OPEN, AND TRIUMPHANTLY STEPPED OUT ONTO THE PORCH. BUT THE SHARP STING OF A LIMB PIERCED MY SPINE AS I STUMBLED THROUGH THE ENTRANCE — INSTANTLY STAINING MY SHIRT WITH AN INCREDIBLY LARGE BLOOD SPOT.

HOWLING IN AGONY, I KEPT GOING. I RAN THROUGH THE YARD, CLIMBED THE FENCE, AND RAN DOWN THE STREETS OF BEVERLY HILLS.

I REMEMBER LITTLE OF WHAT FOLLOWED. BARELY RECALL HOW I ENDED UP IN TORONTO, HONESTLY. I KNOW I LEFT EVERYTHING BEHIND. MY HOME, MY FRIENDS, MY FAMILY, AND MY LIFE.

EVEN SO, THIS NIGHTMARE HASN’T ENDED. FOR MONTHS, I’VE FELT SOMETHING WATCHING ME. I’M CONVINCED OF IT. JUST AS I’M CONVINCED THAT CELEBRITY E