The AutumnForest Blender

by Kerem pauwels

Warning: Violence

“What would you like to order today, sir?”

I stand behind the counter, smiling. The sir in question stands in front of me, readying his answer. I had  immediately marked him as an outsider. Staring a whole 5 seconds at the polished orange menu board is just not something a resident does. He seemed about college age, wearing a tie dye with brown jorts and of course a hitchhiker’s backpack that dwarfed him in height. It was clear to me he hadn’t grown up here in AutumnForest –a town, no, a family of 500. There is only ever one food on the menu: our signature trail mix blend, as healthy for the body as it is for the mind. What’s really up to the customer is how they choose to take the trail mix blend. Every single resident of AutumnForest knows what their preferred order is, as we often make that choice in our infancy. If you’re a fan of milk, get it in a milkshake. If it’s a cold day, get it steeped as a tea. If it’s a hot day, get it frozen as a tablet. If you have a sweet tooth, cover it in sprinkles. If you’re feeling sick and out-of-breath, rub it on your skin as a cream. If you just find the taste unsavory, get it in a syringe. “Nobody shall be barred from the benefits of the trail mix blend!” - a restaurant policy, courtesy of Great-grandma. 

“I think I’ll have the ‘Trail Mix Milkshake’ please.” 

I shout to the kitchen behind me: “One ‘Trail Mix Milkshake’ for the gentleman on table four!” 

“Oh, and hold the nuts. I have an allergy…”

“And no nuts!”

Our restaurant, lovingly named ‘the AutumnForest Blender’, has stayed in the family since its founding. My family’s story in AutumnForest began as Italian immigrants off the shores of Genova. They first arrived on the shores of South Carolina in Beaufort, after which they traveled inland until they reached the small town of AutumnForest.  It had been  left abandoned after 1864, when Union forces presumably burned it to the ground and caused its inhabitants to flee and never return. New residents from outside began rebuilding  the ghosttown for themselves, including our family.. Since 1867, my family has been living in AutumnForest, and in 1869, we would become a major part of AutumnForest life. My great-great-great-grandmother Reginna would notice  a problem in the town and provide a solution. Her blended trail mix, a secret family recipe passed down through the generations, helped the residents “sleep when their beds seemed to come alive” (in their own words). It was -- and still is – a sleep medicine, but further along  the recipe evolved to combat overthinking, indecisiveness, confusion, sleeping limbs, overactive limbs, night terrors, hallucinations, nightmares, aggression and more. It’s truly a mark of our family’s ingenuity, and I’ve seen it unfold in front of my eyes. When the lumberjacks began seeing faces on the trees, our trail mix eased their worries. When the shepherds began hearing their sheep talk, our trail mix made their flocks silent. When the students felt a rumbling in their heart, our trail mix killed it All these –real events in AutumnForest’s history-- are thanks to our family’s innovation.  Every tourist will ask us What is in the trail mix blend that makes it so great? An absurd question to anyone who’s grown up here. We know what’s in the trail mix. Everyone knows. We take almonds, chocolate, peppermint, cauliflower, raisins, cashews, peanuts and a family secret ingredient, then we blend it all together! Then they’ll predictably ask what the secret ingredient is and – well.

I walk downstairs when the clock hits 9 PM, closing time. For the next hour I gather the ingredients to make enough trail mix blend to last the day. We have the almonds, we have the chocolate, the milk, the cashews, the peppermint, the cauliflower, raisins, peanuts.Yes, all here and ready for tomorrow. All we need to do now is visit an old friend of the family. 

John Ash, aged 120 years, sits on his wooden chair in his wooden kitchen, with his wooden utensils looking out the wooden window and contemplating his wooden life worriedly. He lives in our basement, but doesn’t know it. Every night, including this one, I creep down wooden stairs, open a wooden door and give him a wooden greeting. This is my job and it always has been. It’s another family tradition–the eldest manages John’s room, the middle plays John’s wife, and the youngest plays John’s nightmare. I, being the middle child, get dressed each night in this silly old outfit to entertain this silly old man we call John Ash. 

“Oh, my dear Amy, you’re finally here! I had the most horrible dream last night, I was bound to my dinner chair and then a horrible creature came and stole my blood like that Greek Prometheus and the eagle--”

“Josh, that sounds absolutely horrid! Why would you be having dreams like that? I say, you must be sick with something. You shouldn’t go to work today, not before I make you a good hearty chicken soup.”

A relieved and loving smile replaces his worried expression. I see the same expression every time, and it never gets less disturbing knowing that he thinks he loves someone just entertaining the role of his dead spouse. Nevertheless, he never catches on. “That would be lovely, Amy, thank you.” He sighs. “Thank you very much.”

“You're always welcome, John. Now just sit on the dinner chair and relax while I get your soup ready!”

Ashe sits on the chair, I go behind him to be right outside of his field of vision. The kitchen here isn’t actually functional of course. Everything is made out of wood. The wood soothes him in a way that I still don’t understand, but the room’s design was certainly deliberate. I theorize the wood room does something to his memory, or maybe alters his consciousness, or perhaps it stops him from escaping…

Out of his vision, I activate the clasps of the chair. Metal chains - the only thing in the room that isn’t wooden - rise to strap his arms, legs, and torso to the chair. The youngest, my sister Gini, bursts through the door with her ‘extraction device’. The extraction device is a two-faced machine. The top half bears a sharp, spinning blade used to efficiently saw through John’s torso without directly damaging organs. The blood extracted is pushed into the bottom half, an upturned “scoop” that catches the falling liquid. The wide metallic mouth gobbles all of John’s essence, pushing it through narrow see-through plastic tubes directly to the device’s stomach – the “secret ingredient” containment barrel. I hear John’s muffled screams and curses grow louder. I always cover my ears during this part. I just can’t bear hearing John that way. Gini, however, often opts instead to leave her ears open to his suffering. If you ask me, sometimes I think she takes a bit too much enjoyment in all this. The blood of John Ash is used to make more trail mix, and gives it its more unconventional properties. 

That is how our quaint little family makes the magic happen at our dearest ‘AutumnForest Blender’.