Kitchen god
(Gung Hey Fat Choy)

Yu stood with his arms upraised in the empty square, staring sightlessly at the lucent grey sky. Small flakes of snow spiralled down, melting into city grit on his face, but he hardly noticed. Nor did he notice the crowd gathering to stare at him. By his feet, in the red blossoms blooming against the snow sat a greasy paper bag, containing a lotus root cake like his mother had made each New Year for luck. The Kitchen god would be appeased by such an appropriate offering, Yu was certain. The New Year would be a good one for Yu. The gods could not be wrong.
***
It had started so promisingly, Yu’s new employment. A man had offered Yu money to deliver a parcel. A lot of money. Yu had been lounging in the empty square, with some of the gang that his mother disapproved of. They weren’t really a gang, all they did was call to passing girls, and beg fags off strangers. There were rumours that some of the gang did worse, but Yu had never partaken.
The man seemed normal enough, he and Yu exchanged a New Year greeting. Gung hey fat choy. They agreed a price, and the man told Yu where the parcel was to be delivered. It had taken barely more time than to walk home, and Yu had a fat pocket for a week after. The man was pleased with Yu, who was quiet and not likely to ask too many questions. They struck up a deal and Yu’s new job began. Every week the man gave Yu a parcel. Every week Yu delivered it, always to the same address. Sometimes Yu wondered why the man couldn’t deliver it himself, but the money kept him silent.
One week the man gave Yu another instruction. He was to go inside the house, deliver the parcel directly to the person it was for. No problem. The man nodded, and slipped Yu an extra wad of cash. Yu went to the house, which was in a lonely street that the wind seemed to sweep clean and the birds did not care to visit. The house was like the others around it, peeling paint and empty window eyes, but that didn’t bother Yu. He was used to it.
What he didn’t like was the singing.
From inside there came a sound, an undulating cackle like the burning of old books and the gurgle of water down long unused drains. It didn’t sound human, but it didn’t seem likely that it wasn’t human either. Yu fingered the money in his pocket. It would soon dry up if he disobeyed the parcel-man. He shouldered the door open and went inside.
***
Yu had never seen a god before, so he didn’t recognise him immediately. The Kitchen god sat, vast and unlovely, in a pool of congealing grease. The ruin of the parcel-man’s offerings were littered around him, stinking and rotting. The parcel, heavy in Yu’s hand, started to leak. He threw it at the Kitchen-god, who burbled with hunger and ripped it open. It contained a hand.
Yu ran fast. Yu ran and ran and ran.
***
Parcel-man was waiting in the square, in the snow. Yu didn’t hesitate. He pulled a switchblade from his pocket, bought recently to impress his gang. He drove the blade into parcel-man’s chest.
No more of parcel-man’s offerings to Kitchen god. Yu raised his arms to the sky and let the grit-filled snow wash his face. He didn’t notice the crowd gathering to stare at him.