Lovecraft's Dinner Party

Lovecraft was a brilliant writer who could scare you... he was the Stephen King of his day.  There was a story - a myth - that he was forever trying to find the doorway to Purgetory and Hell and open them to see what was inside them.  He believed there were other portholes to other dimensions and places through particular spells and curses we could use at the right times here on Earth.  
There was a rumour that Lovecraft had a dinner party once with a collection of around 10 people where he tried to open the door to Purgetory and thought he failed.  This was until all of the people from that dinner party died mysteriously - all but a 10 year old boy who was at the party who wasn't a part of the actual spell.  Have you ever imagined what went on at that dinner party?  I have.  And Chuck Wendig's Flash Fiction for Halloween this week has given me a great chance to jump in and write about it!

Can you imagine being invited to a dinner party by a famous author, going with your Mum and Dad, only to come home with one of them different?

You know – different.

They weren’t your Mum anymore.

Well, I did… and I can tell ya how it happened.

This isn’t something I can tell just anyone, so sit down and have a slug of that Johnny Walker Blue there, and we’ll chat, eh?  Thanks for bringing that by the way.

It was around 1936 … or 37… I keep forgetting which… when Mother and Father were invited to Lovecraft’s house for a dinner party.  Well, they didn’t trust anyone to care for me – nobody did in those times – and so took me along to play with any other children there.

There were none.

Mother had mis-read the invite where it said:  ‘No children’.  She said I’d be able to entertain myself.  The author wasn’t happy, but he put up with me for the evening and ended up being happy about it; seeing I didn’t say much and didn’t get in the way.

Dinner was nice.  It was just like what we had at home.  Then, I was ordered out of the room a bit after having sweets and the cook took me to the library where I sat and read a bit before getting really bored.  Mr Lovecraft didn’t have anything to entertain children, but the cook had brought in some paper and pencils for me.  She was nice enough to let me in the kitchen after she checked on me once or twice and talked to me while she cleaned up. 

She was a bit like Mother, but spoke a little differently. 

Suddenly a scream cut the air from down the hall! 

We both looked up as she dropped a glass and it shattered on the floor, “Oh shit!” she bent down and began cleaning it up, glancing over her shoulder every now and then to the door.

I jumped down from the stool I had climbed up on, “Should I go and see…”

“No!” she shouted, “I was ordered to stay here, no matter what happened.”

“My parents are in there.” I had a really bad feeling about that scream, it sounded like Mother’s, or did it? Ignoring the cook, I raced out door, down the hall and to the front parlour where they were all gathered and peeked through the large keyhole.  It didn’t give me a good view, so I pushed the door opened a little and saw something I wished I hadn’t.

My Mother was on the floor convulsing.  Father had turned on Mr Lovecraft screaming at him, “What have you done!”

“Like I said, we were supposed to open a doorway.” The author was leaning against the back of large chair, “I just wasn’t sure which doorway.”

Father nearly belted Mr Lovecraft when Mother stopped convulsing and her eyes opened.  He looked over at her as she sat up slowly and she looked at him, “Can we go home now?”

“Definitely.” He turned from the writer and headed toward the door I was hiding behind.

I raced off down the hall to the kitchen where the cook was waiting.  I climbed up on the stool again and tried to appear as though I had been there the whole time when Father looked in, “We’re leaving?” I asked him.

“Yes.” He nodded, “Come on.”

I glanced at the cook who looked on the verge of tears as I followed Father out the door. 

She knew something was going on.

Within minutes of arriving home, my Mother turned on Father, slashing his throat!  I heard the struggles, the cries and final screams from my bedroom.

I knew she was coming for me!

Fighting back the tears, I opened the window, looked down and found the three storey drop to the ground too far me!  I didn’t know what to do!  My bedroom door opened… and there was my Mother, standing there, not knowing what she had done.

“I think your father’s dead.” Her dark silhouette said in the doorway in the most calm voice, “He’s not moving and I have blood on my hands.”

“It’s okay, Mother.” It wasn’t, “I’m here.” I wished I wasn’t, “I’ll help you.” I wanted to run away.

She wasn’t my Mother anymore.

She was so cold to me.  I loved my Mother, not this thing she turned into after that night at Mr Lovecraft’s house.  He’s now dead, and I’m the only one alive to remember this… and well, you.

Hey, we finished off the bottle of Johnny Walker Blue… want to go to the cellar and get another one?  I have quite the collection there… thanks… it’s not the only thing I have down there. 

Mother’s there too…

She’s hungry.

You do remember I told her I’d help her, right?

Yeah… we found our way to where that creature came from that possesses her and let another one out just like her.  It doesn’t like me… I’m not its type.

But you are.