## A Rare Delicacy

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“There’s no fucking way I’m eating that.”

Penelope looks up at me from across the counter, her blonde hair shining in the dim light. It’s pulled up in a messy bun, loose tendrils lying around her face and neck creating a halo effect in the glow of the bar lights.

Her freckled cheeks are slightly pink, partially from the heat of the kitchen and partially from her closing-time glass of wine. Tonight’s choice is the last of a very pricey bottle of French chardonnay. The pale liquid casts a honeyed glow on the cutting board and knife in front of her.

At her back, the kitchen sits dark and quiet, the rest of the staff long since gone home. The far wall is covered in a pale blue backsplash and the silver of the counters and appliances gleam, dull reflections from the dining room decorating their polished surfaces.

Despite her obvious exasperation with me, she has that underlying look of contentment she always gets when she cooks. I love coming to visit her at work for that exact reason – to see the joy it gives her to be in her element. Unfortunately, it also comes with side effects that can prove disastrous for my “child-like palate”.

“What happened to ‘I’ll try to be more adventurous, Pen’?” She gives me a disapproving frown and shakes her knife at me pointedly, small green bits of herb falling to the cutting board below. I groan as she chastises me.

“That was before you tried to feed me a plate of worms!” I protest, staring down at the dish in front of me with a mix of horror and disgust.

A small mound of thick, white, semi-transparent tubes sits on my plate, nestled on a bed of greens and drizzled with an inky-black sauce. I could have tricked myself into thinking they were rice noodles, if they hadn’t been *moving*. The whole mound writhes – sluggish, but obviously alive. I shudder at the thought of trying to ingest even one of the disgusting little creatures.

“How do you even know it’s safe?” I use my fork to prod at the mass suspiciously, watching the worms curl and wriggle in the sauce. My stomach does a slow flip at the sight.

She rolls her eyes at me as she continues mincing the herbs. “You’re being ridiculous, Cami. It’s a traditional dish from South America. A very rare delicacy, once enjoyed only by royalty. They’re perfectly safe.”

I frown at the plate, then at her. “If they’re so rare, then how did Marcus get them?” I cast a look over at the man in question – dramatically putting the finishing touches on a tray of desserts as he flirts with the last two customers of the night. Two college-age girls, dressed in designer clothes and giggling behind $50 glasses of pinot noir as they bat their lashes at the handsome proprietor and chef.

Marcus is old money. His parents are renowned restauranteurs, famous in the high-end food scene, and had given their son a generous donation to open his own fine-dining establishment. Penelope had met Marcus at an event she’d catered and after one taste of her incredible cooking, he had offered her a job at the newly opened *L’Experience.* While he can be a douche sometimes, he’s generally a good guy.

Pen shrugs with one shoulder, her head down and her hand moving so fast it’s almost a blur. The rhythmic sound of chopping underscores her words. “His dad’s friend was on the expedition that harvested them. They haven’t been found in the wild in almost a hundred years but they discovered a thriving population in one of the lesser-explored Peruvian caves. It’s very exciting! The entire world’s supply used to come from a handful of breeders. The worms are parthenogenic but can only procreate under very specific circumstances. If they can study the new habitat and learn from it, they may be able to help grow the population and make the dish more widely-accessible.”

She looks up at me with excitement in her dark eyes and I feel myself weakening. *It’s so hard to say no to her when she looks at me like that!* It’s the same look that I’d received before she convinced me to try some of her other more questionable culinary endeavours. But escargot and haggis are a far cry from *live worms*.

“You know, I thought having a chef for a girlfriend meant I would get to eat *real* gourmet food, not bugs.” I stall, taking a sip of my pinot grigio as I desperately try to come up with a way out of this.

She laughs. “They’re not bugs, they’re worms. And like I said, they’re a rare delicacy – it literally doesn’t get any more gourmet. Just try one, for me?”

I groan as I feel the last of my resistance crumble. *Fuck, I’m going to have to eat a worm.* I try not to think about what I’m about to do as I carefully extract one noodle-esque creature from the writhing mass. Sauce drips off its translucent body as I twirl it around my fork, hoping to make it into one clean bite. The thought of it wriggling against my face makes me want to scream.

*It’s just a rice noodle. A really fat, squishy rice noodle*, I tell myself. Holding my breath, I shove the fork into my mouth and swallow the vaguely-gummy lump without chewing, like a kid eating a mouthful of spinach. I feel it move against the inside of my mouth and throat as it goes down and it takes all my willpower not to throw up right there at the bar.

“Mmm, delicious,” I choke out, grabbing my water and chugging down a few mouthfuls, desperate to wash away the taste before it could register.

Pen laughs at me, shaking her head as she scrapes the herbs off the cutting board and into a bubbling pot on the stove to her right. “Thank you, baby. That was very brave.”

From the other end of the bar, I hear Marcus call out “Impressive! I didn’t think you’d do it. You must really love her, Cami.” He grins at us and I give him a watery smile over the rim of my glass. I take another sip of the icy cold liquid, pushing back the last of my nausea.

“You have no idea.” I cough, a shudder running through me as I put my glass down and pointedly push the dish of worms away, closer to Marcus and his customers. “But only enough to eat one worm.” He and Pen chuckle as the two girls inspect the rejected plate with obvious curiosity.

“Those are worms?” The red-head leans across her friend, crinkling her pixie nose at the black and white mass. “Is it some kind of like… exotic dish?” She practically purrs as she looks up at Marcus from under thick lashes, too perfect to be anything but extensions.

I stifle my urge to groan at the suggestive display as Pen and I exchange a glance. She subtly rolls her eyes and smiles. Marcus always has that effect on girls. You can practically smell the “good-breeding” on him and the handsome face didn’t hurt matters. Add in the charm and well… Marcus is pretty popular. It translates to a packed dining room and a great job for my girlfriend, so I guess I can’t really complain.

He gives the girls a charismatic smile as he puts the dessert tray into the fridge and wipes a white and green cloth over the counter, closing down his section of the kitchen. “Yes, exactly. These are very rare Peruvian worms, straight from a cave in the Southern part of the country. They’re the first ones harvested from the wild in almost a century! Nate – sorry, that’s Nathan B. Walker, from Nat Geo? – he’s a friend of the family. He’s in an association with one of the world’s best cave explorers, Ricardo Garret. My father funded a trip for them to go and look for these little babies.” The red-head swoons and exclaims accordingly, leaning on the bar in an overly-exaggerated display of interest.

“They knew they would be in the cave?” The red-head’s friend – a tall brunette in a rhinestone-studded jacket – cocks her head to the side, looking visibly disturbed by the “delicacy”. Marcus nods as he tosses the cloth into the laundry bin on the other side of the prep counter.

“They suspected it, yes. It’s the central section of caves in a largely-unexplored system and almost impossible to access without specialized equipment and training. Nate and Ricardo were probably the first people to set foot there in centuries! It was identified as a target for exploration because the conditions in that cave are very similar to the original habitat in the Western part of Peru. The water is more acidic in the Southern Cave, but it’s only made the worms heartier. They breed prolifically – the cave system is filled with them! My father says it’ll be months before they can clear the red tape and start harvesting. But in the meantime, he got me a small container to try – he knows I’ve been obsessed with traditional Peruvian cuisine lately.”

The red-head gasps and fawns over Marcus as Pen and I stifle our laughs at his obnoxious bragging. The brunette doesn’t seem quite as interested in his charms at the moment, watching the plate with obvious revulsion.

“Ew, are they alive?” Even the red-head’s attention is diverted at her friend’s question; drawn to the grey porcelain plate and the singular semi-transparent line inching its way over the greens, leaving a trail of black sauce in its wake.

I feel my stomach churn as I watch the escapee, trying not to think about its friend currently residing in my stomach. *Is it moving like that inside me?* I shudder at the thought, taking another gulp of my water.

Marcus answers, looking amused. “Yes, they live in water most of the time but can survive on land for days. The worms are traditionally served alive, on a bed of native herbs and leaves. That black sauce is made of squid ink – humanely-sourced of course. They’re very good. Truly an… *experience*. He gives the red-head a sly wink and she giggles into her wine glass.

*Ugh, they might be more nauseating than the worms.* I give Pen a look over my own nearly-empty glass, signalling that we should leave soon. She nods to me, pouring the contents of the pot into a large square kitchen tub and moving it to the prep counter behind her.

“Would you like to try one?” Pen offers the girls as she places the pot in the sink and returns to wipe down her side of the counter. “Somehow, I don’t think she’ll be eating any more.” She gives me a teasing grin, which I return.

The brunette declines, still looking slightly unnerved, but her drunk friend is feeling more adventurous. She totters over on tall stiletto heels, slurping up a few of the worms like spaghetti and washing them down with a mouthful of wine. She’s laughing as she returns to her seat. Marcus takes almost half of what remains with a smug grin and a waggle of eyebrows in my direction.

*Yeah, definitely time to leave*, I think, turning my attention to admire the curve of Penelope’s back under her sheer, green blouse as she leans over the sink scrubbing the pot. She steps back with a satisfied nod, wiping her hands on the hem of her black apron and untying the strings at the small of her back. She pulls it over her head, dropping it in the laundry bin on her way back towards me.

I drain the rest of my wine in anticipation of going home as Pen rounds the corner of the bar and comes to stand on my left side. Leaning over the square dish, she scoops up a forkful of dripping worms and gulps them down with a forkful of greens, barely seeming to chew, then repeats until the plate is clean. She moves to bring the dishes to the back but Marcus waves her off.

“I’ll finish up here, Pen. You go home. It was a busy day and you’ve earned it.” He gives her a look over his own glass of wine – freshly refilled, as are his customers’. She smiles knowingly and places the plate back down with a nod.

“Alright Marcus, thanks. Babe, you ready?” She turns to find me standing and holding out her jacket. My own was already on and both our purses rest on my chair.

“Yep.” I grin at her and she gives me a wry smile, sliding her arms into the sleeves of her black leather jacket and taking her mint green clutch from the chair.

“See you on Monday, Marcus. Have a nice evening, ladies,” Pen calls out. I wave over my shoulder as we head down the side hall to the staff entry at the rear of the building, then out into the parking lot.

The late summer sun has long since set and the wind carries a distinctly autumn-like chill. A few crickets chirp in the grass bordering the asphalt and the low thump of music and voices filters out from the club across the street. Aside from Marcus’s flashy Corvette and what must be his customers’ BMW, our old blue sedan is the only car left in the lot.

We drive home in companionable silence. She’s tired from a long day and I’d worked the early shift at the dealership. The whole weekend stretches out in front of us – our first time off together since the summer began. Between our jobs and my master’s degree, our schedules are rarely aligned. We’d booked these days off a month in advance so we could hang out before my classes started again in September.

“You coming to bed with me?” I raise my voice above the sound of the shower as I lean over the sink and splash water on my face. Pen’s voice carries on a cloud of citrus-scented air, billowing over the aqua and lime-green curtain separating us.

“No, not yet, I want to stay up for a bit. Soon though. Hey, I forgot to ask – did you get a spot in that class?”

I dry my face on my favorite blue towel, my annoyed groan muffled by the thick cotton. “It’s still full. So now I’ll have a huge gap between my classes on Wednesdays and my work schedule is fucked. Andre says we’ll look at moving my shifts around, so maybe that’ll help.” I run my hand through my hair with a sigh then shake my head. “But I’ll deal with that on Monday. I’m all yours for the weekend… starting tomorrow morning.”

I pull back the edge of the curtain and she leans in to give me a wet kiss. “Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow. I have a special dinner planned. You’ll see – all your favourites.”

I step back with a smile, wiping my face on my arm. “Can’t wait!” I call over my shoulder as I head to our bedroom.

\~\~\~

I wake to a low sound, like groaning followed by a splash. I go to sit up but a sudden, sharp pain in my stomach stops me. *Ugh, what the fuck?*

It’s a stabbing sensation deep within my abdomen, making me roll over to my side with my hand wrapped around my belly protectively. As I lie there gritting my teeth, the sound filters through the open bedroom door again – *groan, splash.* Through the haze of pain and disorientation, the noise finally registers. *Throwing up. Pen is throwing up.*

I force myself to the side of the bed and roll out with an agonized moan. Waves of nausea assail me as I fight to remain standing and lumber towards the door.

*Food poisoning. Probably from those fucking worms,* I think to myself, sweat beading on my upper lip and brow. I lean heavily on the hallway wall, my arm sliding over the painted surface with every step. I try to focus on the coolness against my feverish skin, desperate to fight off the queasiness long enough to make it to my girlfriend.

*If I feel like this, Pen must be in even worse shape.* I see her bent over the plate in my mind’s eye, slurping up the pale worms, squid-ink and all. *Must have been more than a dozen there.* I force the memory away and concentrate on my breathing, trying to settle my stomach through will alone.

Though the hallway is barely ten feet long, it feels like it takes twenty minutes to reach the bathroom at the other end. Warm, yellow light spills out onto the neutral-toned carpet, a low shadow indicating Pen is slumped in front of the toilet. Her soft whimpers are audible even before I round the corner, rubbing my eyes with a fist.

“Pen, you okay?” She had turned the small counter-top lamp on instead of the brighter overhead fixture and the dim glow is gentle on my tired eyes. The light casts long shadows across the counters and floors – strange shapes to match the myriad of bottles and jars that line our sink.

She lifts her hand weakly in response to my voice but remains still otherwise. With a pained grunt, I step closer, clenching my teeth against the ache in my stomach. As I do, a black shape on the floor next to the toilet catches my gaze – a small puddle of dark liquid about the diameter of a grapefruit. I focus on it intently, trying to identify the substance, but it’s too dim in the room. I look up towards the sink and see there’s more on the lip, leaving a trail down the rickety cabinet door to the frigid tile below. *Must be her vomit. I guess the squid ink is really concentrated.*

Reassured, I bend down carefully and put my hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently. “I’ll get you some water,” I say, moving off towards the sink. She makes a strained noise that may or may not be a response but I pay it no mind, focusing on the half-full glass next to Pen’s phone, just left of the faucet. *She must have been getting water when she started to throw up.*

I reach the counter after what seems like an eternity and brace my shaking hands on either side of the basin, leaving my hips clear of the trail of puke down the front of the cupboard. I close my eyes for a moment, drawing breath in through my nose. *Fuck, don’t throw up yet.* Summoning my strength, I open my eyes and reach for the glass but sudden movement in the sink draws my attention.

I freeze with my arm outstretched, my blood running cold as my body realizes the implications before my tired brain can catch up. The same dark liquid that’s on the floor and cabinet lines the basin, ringing the drain with a shade more crimson than black.

I had assumed it was the squid ink giving the vomit its dark color but the reddish tint makes me instantly worried. *It’s just from her wine,* I try to tell myself as I stare hard into the puddle. *But didn’t she have white wine tonight?*

Time seems to slow as I focus on the sink’s contents. I’m just about to turn away, convinced I’m freaking myself out over nothing, when I see it. A slow, tentacle-esque movement. A thin, narrow string, furling and unfurling as it writhes in the middle of the porcelain basin, its translucent form drawing patterns in what I am now sure is my girlfriend’s blood.

*A worm – it’s a fucking worm!*  A breathless scream escapes me as I jump back, frantically wiping my hands down by chest and legs. In my mind, I’m crawling with the things, their tiny, grasping bodies reaching for me from their trail down the cabinet.

*Oh god, they’re in me too!* The comprehension of my own infestation brings a fresh round of nausea and I stagger back towards the sink, heedless of the tiny invaders already occupying the basin. Before I can reach it, another stabbing pain shoots through my lower belly, sending me to my knees with a strangled cry.

I double over, breathing through gritted teeth as my nausea is temporarily overcome by the sharp ache. “P-pen… are you okay?” A low thud answers my question and I lift my head to see she has slumped down onto the floor, unconscious. A thin stream of blood and bile leaks from the corner of her mouth and her shirt is stained red over her stomach in a constellation of small dots. Her hair spreads across the tile beneath her, her skin pale and damp with sweat.

“Pen!” My voice is hoarse and barely audible as I begin to move towards her on instinct. Another wave of pain washes through me as I drag myself to her side.

“Penelope! Answer me!” I grab her face in a shaking hand, desperate to see the rise and fall of her chest. She groans softly but does not wake, doing little to allay my fears. When I had first come to check to on her I had been so focused on the puddle that I hadn’t even glanced in the toilet. But after seeing what lay in the sink, I need to know how serious the situation is. With dread accompanying every movement, I drag myself up to look over the porcelain rim.

A small cry of revulsion and fear escapes me at the sight. Even with the dim light and shadows, the contents of the toilet are both horrifying and undeniable. Worms *–* filling the bowl almost half-way up, in a variety of sizes. Some are tiny, barely the length of a grain of rice, but others are already the size of the adults we’d eaten only hours ago. There are *hundreds* of them, slipping and writhing against each other in the dark red liquid and making its surface move like a boiling soup on a stove.

I vomit without warning, adding my own crimson bile to the bowl. Marcus and Penelope’s voices whisper in my ear, replaying their words from the restaurant as I purge my stomach. *“They haven’t been found in the wild in almost a hundred years…” “The water is more acidic in the South Cave, but it’s only made the worms heartier. They breed prolifically – the cave system is filled with them!"*

I throw up again, feeling the burn of my stomach contents on the delicate tissue of my throat. *Acidic, like their home. The perfect breeding ground!* I feel close to madness at the thought of what fills my belly. My thoughts begin to spiral, my brain convinced I can feel wriggling in my mouth and throat as the worms writhe, searching for freedom with the same slow, creeping exploration its predecessor had used to try and escape the plate at *L’Experience.*

*Help – we need help!* I struggle to all fours and crawl across the smooth gray tiles to the counter. “Hang on baby, I’m going to call 911. You’ll be okay – just hang on!”

I hear the panic and desperation in my voice and let it fuel me, pushing past the agony in my guts to haul myself up the edge of the counter and grab Penelope’s phone with a clammy, weak hand. I lean my forearms against the cool surface, trying to hit the “Emergency” button on her iPhone. My fingers, wet with blood, shake so badly that I keep missing, smearing red across our smiling faces in her background picture.

Another wave of anguish overtakes me, summoning fresh vomit from my tortured stomach. It’s all I can do to aim towards the sink. The vaguely-gritty liquid splashes up the opposite side of the basin and leaves a splash of writhing scarlet across the white linoleum. I stab at the “Emergency” button again and it finally registers, prompting me to confirm. I manage to hit “Yes” and am relieved to hear a ringing sound as the call goes through.

I slide down the cupboards to the floor and put the phone on speaker, gripping it in one hand as I crawl back towards Pen, still lying motionlessly on the ground. *Is her shirt bloodier?*

I close the distance between us, staring hard at the polka-dot pattern decorating Penelope’s favourite lilac T-shirt. When she’d first collapsed, the dozen or so dots were barely larger than sesame seeds and looked more like splashes from a violent bout of sickness. Now they’re much larger – closer to the size of dimes, with fresh pinpricks interspersed between the growing circles. Her belly is swollen under the loose fabric, bulging in a way I had never seen before.

“911, what’s your emergency?” A calm, soothing voice pulls my attention from Pen’s shirt as I hasten to answer the operator.

“Yes, please help us! My girlfriend and I, w-we ate some kind of Peruvian worm dish at her work and now we’re both throwing up worms! P-please, there’s so much blood and she … she’s unconscious.” I’m sobbing openly into the phone as I kneel next to Pen, stroking the hair back from her face with a shaky hand.

“Ok, try and stay calm. I’m sending help to you. Can you confirm your address for me?”

“4336 Seaglass Lane, Apartment 5. Please hurry! She ate so much more than I did.” I let myself slump down to lay on the ground next to her, a fresh wave of stabbing pain in my gut making me writhe in serpentine agony. *Like one of the creatures that have invaded my body!*

I suddenly become aware of a warm, sticky sensation on my lower belly and stare down at the three red dots lining my midriff in confusion. *When did I get it on myself?*

The operator’s voice sounds tinny and far away, fading as my attention focuses on the slowly-expanding circles of red on my own stomach. Burning pain eats at the flesh of my lower abdomen as my mind fills with terrified thoughts of what this means. My own belly is swollen and bloated too – not as pronounced as Pen’s, but definitely not normal. I rest my hand on the upper curve gingerly, my breath coming in anxious pants.

With shaking hands and a half-formed scream in my throat, I sit up and lift the hem of my T-shirt, slowly drawing it up the face of my distended stomach. The material sticks slightly before giving way, the blood already half-dried and tacky. Part of me knows what I’m going to see even before my eyes register the cause of the strange red circles. Thin, white threads, poking up from the epicentre of the bloodstains. Probing, flailing, reaching. *Escaping their host.*

A primal scream emanates from me as I watch the juvenile worms try and force their way out of my body. I drop the phone and begin clawing at myself frantically, feeling the fragile threads of my sanity snapping under the pressure of this waking nightmare.

Distantly, I hear the 911 dispatcher telling me to remain calm, that the ambulance is right around the corner. But he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know what’s *in me,* what’s *coming out of me!* I sob, my heartbeat loud in my ears and my breath short.

Blackness creeps into the edges of my vision as I collapse back onto the floor next to Pen, my field of view narrowing to a tube of gleaming white porcelain streaked with writhing crimson. I’m dimly aware that this must be a panic attack, severe enough to knock me out, but I am well past the point of calming myself down. Instead, I scream until the blackness takes me.

\~\~\~

I woke in the hospital two days later, my limbs stiff from immobility and my stomach aching. Pen was in the bed next to mine, her face pale but her breathing steady. We would later learn that Marcus and his red-haired customer, Sophia, were also admitted that night, after her friend found them throwing up worms and drove them both to the nearest emergency room.

It would be almost a week until Sophia and I were released from the hospital. Penelope and Marcus were there much longer. Having ingested so many more of the worms, the damage to their intestines had been far more extensive. The infestation would have been the end of Pen and I financially if Marcus’ father hadn’t offered to pay for everything – a gesture of contrition for sending the worms back for human consumption without proper testing and study first.

In the months following the incident, researchers discovered that the original population of worms had become split between cave systems hundreds of thousands of years ago. This had led to the evolution of two breeds of the same species – identical, save for a few key differences.

The Western caves were expansive and food was abundant so the worm population had flourished with little adaptation needed, before changes in the local ecosystem and over-harvesting of the expensive delicacy drove the worms to complete extinction in the wild.

The Southern worms, on the other hand, had ended up in a smaller system of caves that was very difficult to access and had little in the way of food. It was a harsh environment but the offshoot worm population had adapted extremely well to the acidic waters and lack of resources. Their tolerance for a wider variety of food sources and breeding conditions had allowed the worms to transcend their place as lowly bottom-feeders and become the dominant water-dwelling species in the Southern caves. Only their isolated environment and cannibalistic tendencies kept the prolific species in check.

It’s a true testament to nature that human stomach acid wasn’t enough to kill the Southern worms. That instead of curling up and dying like their Western counterparts, they had bred in the closed environment of our stomachs. Their asexual reproduction combined with the species’ rapid growth rate and huge numbers of offspring had quickly created a space-deficit. And like any adaptable organism, the worms had tried to expand their territory and search for new resources... by burrowing their way to the surface.

It seemed hard to believe these simple differences between the worms had combined to create the nightmare Penelope, Marcus, Sophia and I had lived through, but it was later confirmed by several other research groups. The Southern variety of worms were ultimately classified as “unfit for live consumption” and never reached the widespread status Marcus and Penelope had initially hoped for.

Pen and I have mostly recovered at this point. She kept her job at the restaurant, eventually working her way back into the kitchen full-time once her and Marcus were well enough to re-open. Somehow, she hasn’t let the incident taint her love of food, but I can confidently say that my palate remains safely “child-like”.

\~\~\~

[X](https://briannaishiimcfaull.ca/short-stories)## TLDR Summary:

 “Would you like to try one?” Pen offers the girls as she places the pot in the sink and returns to wipe down her side of the counter. And like any adaptable organism, the worms had tried to expand their territory and search for new resources... by burrowing their way to the surface. *“They haven’t been found in the wild in almost a hundred years…” “The water is more acidic in the South Cave, but it’s only made the worms heartier. “Those are worms?” The red-head leans across her friend, crinkling her pixie nose at the black and white mass. *

A primal scream emanates from me as I watch the juvenile worms try and force their way out of my body. She totters over on tall stiletto heels, slurping up a few of the worms like spaghetti and washing them down with a mouthful of wine. She steps back with a satisfied nod, wiping her hands on the hem of her black apron and untying the strings at the small of her back.
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