Chapter 1

I picked at the green slop in front of me, the same way I would pick at my peas as a child. I tried to ignore my reflection in the window, visible in my periphery. Across the table from me sat Mike, wolfing down a greasy burger and deep-fat-fried potato wedges.

We had started this journey together three months ago. And he was bigger than me. I hadn’t deviated from the diet once, except for those rare times that I had actually dropped a pound and rewarded myself. But Mike, he had only been loyal to the stringent eating prohibitions for a week and started to show stark improvement. The hours I had been putting in at the gym felt in vain as I watched his sharp jawline flex with each bite. Was he taking something?

“Not hungry?” He managed to squeeze the words through cheeks full of half-chewed meat and bun.

I shrugged and put my fork down on the table, defeated. I had hardly touched my poor excuse for a salad and was giving his burger an unconscious death stare.

“I don’t know. Maybe—maybe this weight loss thing isn’t for me.”

“Come on, man, you can’t seriously be wanting to quit. It hasn’t even been that long.”

“It’s been three months and I’ve only lost ten pounds. How much have you lost?”

He seemed reluctant. “I don’t know, like, eigh—nigh—” I could tell he didn’t want to tell the truth, but why? He furrowed his eyebrows, contemplating. “A hundred pounds.”

“A hundred pounds?!” I yelled in shock.

“Dude, keep your voice down.”

I looked around. Other than the employees working in the kitchen, we were the only ones in the restaurant. But to make him comfortable, and because I could feel an admission coming, I leaned in, pressing my gut into the table.

“How is that even possible?” I whispered.

He reached for his pocket, hesitating. Then he scoffed, wordlessly telling himself the jig was up. Finally revealing his wallet, he pulled out a business card and slid it across the table. I read the bold light-blue letters and the finer words beneath. Anguifam; weight loss solutions.

“Anguifam?” I said skeptically. “What is that? The knockoff of that synthetic bullshit?”

After shoving more wedges down his gullet, he shook his head with a shameless expression. “Better. It’s all natural. And FDA-approved for human trials.”

“Human trials? What’ve you gotten yourself into? And what the hell, man? When were you going to tell me? After I killed myself with this stupid diet?”

He put his hands up defensively. “It’s not like that. It’s kinda—well, it’s hard to—it’s better if I just show you,” he said, crumpling up his wrappers and wiping his face with a napkin. I gave him a look of disbelief. Did I even know this person? He eyed my bowl with greed.

“You gonna eat that?”

“I guess not,” I said, passing the salad to him. He scarfed it down like it was his last meal. Before going on this diet, I knew Mike to be more gluttonous than even me. But this gorging was new. After he had done everything but lick the bowl clean, we finally got in his car and left.

“What does Anguifam even mean?” I asked, looking over the card as we drove.

“Its full name is some Latin jargon. They told it to me when I went in to get my blood drawn, but I forgot it.”

“You got your blood drawn for this? What kind of medication is this?”

“No, not medication. Treatment,” he corrected me as we parked. “It’s hard to explain. You’ll see.”

Entering Mike’s dingy one-bedroom apartment, I could tell that even though his body had changed, his living and eating habits had devolved. As he twisted the knob and entered, the first thing I noticed was the smell: a mixture of unmanaged body odor and rotting food. And I could hear wrappers and garbage getting crushed behind the door.

“Don’t mind the mess. I was planning on cleaning up, but I just couldn’t find the time,” he said.

I was stunned at the sight before me. Piled on either side of the hallways were mounds of garbage. Wrappers with old cheese and condiments still stuck to them, molding napkins and soda-leaking cups covered the floors. The only parts where the matted and stained carpet was visible were where Mike had forged paths. Like a root system, each of the four narrow clearings sprouted off of the main arterial path that began at the front door. The bedroom, bathroom, kitchen, and computer desk were clearly frequented. But everything else, including the back door, was lost.

“Christ Almighty,” I said under my breath.

“Yeah, one of the side effects is overeating,” he said with the casualness of someone who was caught with a midnight snack.

I felt the sole of my shoe sink into something rotten with a sickening squish. I looked down to see my foot covered in a wet, chunky, greyish mass that at one time resembled food. My eyes began to water as I held back a gag. But Mike kept moving. He was unbothered by my disgust, disappearing into the unlit kitchen. Something in the back of my mind screamed at me to just leave. But he looked so good. So I persevered.

Turning the corner, my feet stopped at the threshold. Mike was standing in the dark, his back straight up against the wall, looking at me with a blank expression.

“Everything alright, buddy?” I asked.

He nodded, beckoning to me with his finger. I hesitantly shuffled in until I reached the other side of the fridge. I stood there in the tense silence for several moments until he finally spoke in a broken whisper.

“You can’t tell anyone about what I’m about to show you.”

“I get it. It’s okay, man.”

“No. You don’t. I signed an NDA for this. I’m breaching my contract by doing this. You have to promise me.”

“Yeah, okay, I promise.”

At first the fridge light was blinding after he yanked it open. But after my eyes adjusted, I was faced with a fridge not full of food, no. From top to bottom, end to end, the fridge was lined with clear little jars, no bigger than shot glasses, filled with saline. He grabbed one off the top shelf and handed it to me. The white lid had the same blue words as the business card.

I could tell there was something dark floating in the liquid. But I could only see its faint shadow behind the pharmaceutical label. Printed on the sticker was the RX number, Mike’s full name and address, along with the official name: Anguilla Famelica. The most interesting thing about the label, however, were the instructions on how to take the “treatment.” Keeping the head aimed down the throat, swallow the entire contents of the container before each meal. Do not gag, as this might activate the treatment earlier than intended.

Turning the jar slightly to see around the label, I recoiled, nearly dropping it. Curled in a tight coil was a thin, tubular, shoelace-shaped creature, stagnantly floating. Its textureless glossy black skin was encased by a thin layer of a clear gelatin-like substance. Splitting deep down the middle of its smooth eyeless head were jaws lined with long interlocking needles for teeth. I nearly tossed it back into Mike’s hands.

“Oh my god, what is that thing?”

“It’s my treatment,” he said as I backed away slowly.

“You, you swallow that thing?”

“Yep. The doctors call it by its Latin name, but I just call it my little eater eel,” he said, sounding oddly proud.

“Eater eel?”

“Yeah, and it’s no joke. They’ll eat anything but themselves. It’s great, man. I can eat whatever I want, when I want, then my little helper does its magic. It eats all the excess fat that would get stored up in my body. But that clear stuff around it, that’s where the real magic happens.”

I felt like I was going to be sick, but my curiosity drove me to ask more questions. “What is it?”

“It’s mucus. Special weight loss mucus,” he said, a euphoric look in his eyes.

“Is it dead? Shouldn’t it be, I don’t know, swimming around?”

“Well, yeah. It’s in hibernation until my stomach wakes it up.”

“Are there any other side effects? Like delusions of grandeur?” I asked.

“How do you mean?”

“I mean this is disgusting. At this point you might as well just swallow a tapeworm.”

He chuckled, shaking his head like I was the crazy one.

“No, man. A tapeworm is a parasite. This ain’t no parasite. It was grown in a lab for just this purpose. Just for me. It doesn’t stay in my body any more than a few hours.”

“So you have one of those things inside of you right now?”

He nodded, satisfied. “Speaking of which, I need to go to the bathroom. I’ll be right back.”

He patted me on the shoulder, then scurried out of the kitchen. He vanished around the corner with the bottle still in his hand. I heard the bathroom door close and I was left alone—alone with the fridge and its contents.

His fridge was cleaner than an operating room, the little flasks perfectly aligned. The sterile light cast a huge shadow of my obese figure, engulfing the entire room. I looked down at my gut. I could barely see the tips of my shoes poking out. I looked back into the fridge and picked up another jar, examining the eel inside. The more I looked at it, the less intimidating it became. I was becoming more fascinated; I had never seen anything like it. But imagining myself trying to swallow it made my stomach turn.

Why was I putting in all this work when Mike was cheating? Why should I have to suffer? I didn’t think he would mind, or notice, if I took just a single sample. No, no that was wrong. I wasn’t a thief. But lying to me. Making me think there was something wrong with me. For months. That was so much worse. Was I really going to steal from my friend? Hearing the toilet flush, I had to make my decision quickly.

“So, do you want me to hook you up?”

“What?” I said. I closed the fridge door and the room went dark again.

“With the treatment. I have an in with Anguifam, they’re looking for more subjects. They even offer a referral bonus. A hundred bucks, I think.”

He paused, considering his next words.

“To be honest, that’s why I never told you. I wanted to see if it was safe before I got you wrapped into it.”

I looked up, pretending to contemplate. I knew he was lying.

“Umm, no thanks, man. I think I’m going to stick with the plan I have now. But I promise not to tell anyone so your NDA stays intact.”

He smiled. “That’s actually admirable. Well, now that you know my secret, wanna catch dinner?”

“Didn’t we just eat?”

“Oh! Of course, silly me.”

“I guess I’d like to go home. I’ve got some chores that need done. Mind giving me a ride?”

“Not at all, not at all. Let’s go.”

The drive back to my apartment was as stale and uncomfortable as the silence in the kitchen. After leaving Mike and walking back into my apartment, I took a relieved breath. I was finally back in my clean home. Immediately after slipping my shoes off and walking to the bathroom, I stood on the scale. 233, not good enough. I looked in the mirror, desperate to see anything worth admiring, but it only reflected back the pig I knew I was. Then I brushed my hand across the bottle-shaped bulge in my pocket. I could feel it burning a hole. With a hesitant hand, I removed the glass vial. There it was, the motionless “eater eel.” One last look at the mirror.

I could just tell Mike I had a change of heart and go on with the treatment. Removing the cap, I looked down into the perfectly clear liquid. For a moment, the little creature reminded me of high school biology, seeing the frogs we dissected floating in formaldehyde. A nauseous shiver ran down my spine. Was I really about to do this? Finally resolving, I pinched my nose and shot it back. The salty saline hit my taste buds, then the slimy, savory mucus. It felt like I was trying to swallow a solidified loogie. My reflection’s eyes grew wide and I grimaced. I nearly spat it out, but I forced myself to swallow. But my esophagus clenched, trying to reject the foreign entity. It got stuck in my throat and I could feel its tail tickling the back of my tongue. I tried to hold back my urge to gag, but it was no use. My whole body retched. Still holding the glass in my hand, I remembered the instructions. Quickly, I filled the bottle with water and slammed it down. My esophagus finally released to allow the water through, and the eel followed.

After spending a few moments catching my breath, I began to wonder how long it would take to activate. Would I feel it? Swimming around? Usually at that time, I would be heading to the gym, but I wanted to test its capabilities. I was going to get a fatty burger, with potato wedges and a large soda. And maybe a milkshake for dessert. I went to go get my shoes back on when my phone rang. It was Mike.

“Hello?”

“James!” Mike said, panicked. “Please don’t tell me you took one.”

“Took what?” I asked, playing dumb.

“An eel! My fridge is missing one. I checked!”

I was expecting him to be upset if he ever confronted me, but he sounded genuinely concerned.

“No, why?” I lied.

“You have to promise me you didn’t. Those things are matched to my blood!”

At first I didn’t understand, until I felt the pain in my stomach.