A Feast to Remember- A Christmas Horror Story

by K.T. Rose

The dining room was dim with candle flames flickering, coating the walls in a staggering orange light. The Christmas tree was bright; specks of blue, yellow, red, and green littered the living room and shined on our feast. A red runner stretched down the center of the table, its golden trim glinting in the lights. I’d carefully chosen the porcelain dishes and polished silverware, sure to place them with etiquette.

I marveled at the meal, proud of my project. I’d slaved over the stove for several hours, preparing the veggie and meatball soup, ribs, and stuffed peppers. I’d even made the butter from scratch and spread it over a loaf of French bread.

I sat at the head of my mother’s antique oaken dining set, proud of my feast. But when I looked around the table, my heart dropped . . . 

Everyone else felt different.

My best friends, Abbie and Jena, sat to the right of me. Jena’s long-awaited anticipation didn’t conclude with the reaction that I’d hoped for. Her face was twisted in disgust as she examined her soup. Abbie poked at the ribs with her fork, watching it with a furrowed brow.

My brother, Ian, sat across from me. He rested his jaw against his fist, and his hopeless dark eyes almost leered at the plate before him. He hadn’t bothered touching his food. In fact, he hadn’t said a word since dinner was officially served. They’d been cheerful and excited during the offering to the Almighty One. We’d exchanged a few personal things and, most importantly, asked for protection amidst our fifth feast.

But all the laughter and excitement had gone, and everyone sat in silence. Everyone was somber, including Ian’s guests, who sat across from Abbie and Jena.

I felt my face go hot as it flushed. Ian was disappointed in me. I could tell from his frown as he watched the girl, Milly, as he had called her earlier, spoon the stuffing from her yellow pepper and dump it onto her plate. She was playing with her food.

With my food.

“So how long have you guys known each other?” I asked her, breaking the awkward silence. 

Jena smacked her teeth. “Really?” she asked, still having a hard time eating her soup. She patted at the meatballs and pushed them around with her spoon.

I huffed, drowning in my worst fear. It was bad. And I knew it was bad. But I didn’t think it was that bad. “Look guys,” I started, “I’m sorry, all right? There was no way I could’ve known! It’s not like I can take a sample and then decide not to cook it! You all know it doesn’t work like that.”

“You’ve completely destroyed the tradition,” Ian griped as he sat back in his chair. His broad chest rose high, and his nostrils flared.

I gasped. “What? It isn’t like I didn’t try. I may have messed up the hunt, but I worked incredibly hard on everything else. I even made Creme Brulé!”

“We only get to do this once a year, and it’s terrible. It’s . . . it’s an embarrassment,” Ian said, curling his shoulder over his chest. He went to say something else, but he stopped.

“How could you say that?” I asked. “I worked really hard on this!”

“No, you didn’t,” Ian said, matter-of-factly.

“Yes, I did! For months, I searched for the right decorations and hunted for the right cuts. Nobody helped me—”

“No one’s supposed to help you because it’s a competition! Stop deflecting!” he shouted.

I’d never heard my brother speak to me that way. But I didn’t want the tradition to encompass a competition. They did. They always did. Before I could speak, Ian said, “You humiliated me.”

I caught his friend rolling her eyes at me.

“Are you overreacting because of them?” I asked Ian while pointing at his friends. “Who are they anyway? I thought this was a private event,” I said,

The girl looked at the guy sitting next to her, and they both chuckled.

“Hello?” I asked, wanting a quicker answer.

She turned back to me with her smug lips turned up at the corners. “Uh, I’m Milly, and I think you already know that—we met earlier this evening. And this is my boyfriend, Skyler, who you’ve also met. And we agree with Ian: you ruined dinner. This is horrific.”

Skyler looked up from his ribs with a frown and nodded his agreement.

“Yeah, it is,” Abbie mumbled underneath her breath.

“You have something to say?” I asked, feeling my blood boil. They were being a bunch of jerks.

“Yeah, you know what? Yeah . . . Nia, I love you, but that soup is so salty, and the ribs are all mushy and . . . ugh. It’s disgusting! All of it! Gross!” She pointed at Jena’s bowl. “There are chunks of gristle and fat swimming in her broth!”

I shrugged. “I thought it would add some flavor.”

“Well . . . it didn’t. It made the soup somehow worse, and the ribs are inedible!”

“Yeah, because it was mostly fat! I spent hours bleeding it dry and trimming the fat! Do you know how heavy it was?”

“Yeah, and everyone knows that you go for the fit ones at the gym, not the chunky ones outside the burger place! We all know that!” Ian shouted.

I waved them off. “Whatever. Like I said, I needed help.”

Everybody groaned.

“You’re so full of shit,” Ian said. “We all had to do it alone before. Just admit you messed up, and we can burn everything that’s left of the bastard and order a pizza.”

I slammed my hands onto the tabletop. “What? No—no—you all haven’t done it alone, especially the complete strangers at the table! How do you know they’re not cops?” I yelled.

“Uh, I assure you that we’re not cops because we sat here and tasted this travesty of a meal,” Milly said. Her dreary, monotone voice wore on my nerves.

“Don’t try to turn this around,” Ian said, scowling at me.

They all shouted angrily and pointed fingers at me. It was an outraged caucus, showering an array of insults and frustration over the initially festive mood.

I hadn’t made anyone that unhappy before. Because of me, my friends’ favorite event, Christmas Eve Dinner, was ruined. They didn’t deserve that. And as I thought through the barrage of hatred and sadness, I stood, willing the dinner to digress. I sighed and then shouted, “Ok!” They piped down but watched me with furrowed brows and indignant mugs. “You don’t have to yell. I . . . I get it. I messed up. I ruined everything—and you know what? I’m sorry. I’m very sorry. But please, all I ask is that we all eat dessert. I can order us a pizza and we can have some drinks. Dinner is over, but we can still enjoy our weekend together.”

Abbie’s chest rose and slowly fell when she sighed in response. “I mean, you’re in last place for sure,” she concluded.

“Yeah,” Jena said.

“Last place,” Milly said for no reason. I cringed.

“I guess that makes me undefeated,” Ian coaxed.

***

As I cleared the table of the terrible dinner, the others stayed seated and listened to Skyler and Milly go on and on about their fitness plan and how this diet is the ultimate diet. By pretending to be vegan, they made room for a feast, but only once a year. It was their eighth year. Since they’d been on this ultimate diet, they’d climbed Mount Everest, backpacked across Hawaii, skied Tahoe, and blah, blah, blah.

They wanted two feasts this year to prepare them for their dream hike up the Application Trail, from Georgia to Maine.

“We were set to leave in a few days. We figured we could use another bite for the long walk,” Milly bragged. “We just ate on Thanksgiving.”

Jena nodded her approval. “That sounds like fun.”

Ian grinned. “Yup.”

Abbie said, “Oh that’s nice.”

“So, I guess you can say that we give to the All-Mighty One in exchange for a happy active lifestyle.” Milly turned over her shoulder and kissed Skyler on the lips. “Why do you guys give?” she asked, scooting her chair closer to Skyler. She sat up against his chest and he wrapped his arms around her waist.

I stopped at the head of the table and cocked my head. Milly’s dense familiarity with us plucked my straining nerves. I narrowed my eyes a little as she looked at the others, avoiding my piercing stare.

“I trade for continued success,” Ian said slowly, looking to Abbie for reassurance.

“Well, I do it for continued growth, so I guess that’s the same,” she said.

I do it for protection, I thought as I headed for the kitchen.

***

I put Milly and Skyler’s Crème Brule on red plates, the other’s desserts on green plates, and mine on a white one.

***

Around noon the next day, I stood at the head of the dining room table ringing a cowbell. It was as loud as a gong as it bellowed, filling the house with a thunderous call. Before long, Ian, Jena, and Abbie came down the steps with low eyes and wide-mouthed yawns. They’d crashed after having pizza and a few drinks the night before. And there was also the “lightly spiked” Crème Brule that helped put them down for about twelve hours.

I smiled as I watched them approach, Ian leading the way. Amused, I claimed victory before my new approach could be judged.

Their bitching and griping about my poor dinner went on and on until they all went off to bed. And with them sleeping, I prepared and redid. Tightened and revised.

“What’s that smell?” Ian said as he wiped the morning crust from his eye with one hand, and tugged at the waist of his red flannel pajama pants with the other. He sheepishly dragged his feet through the living room, passing the tree and stopping at the dining room entrance. “What—” He paused, and his mouth dropped.

Jena rose a brow and smiled.

Abbie yelled, “When did you do this?” She giggled, amazed.

Their faces lit up at the display: a new dinner that was better than anything they’d prepared.

A new rack of ribs sat on a silver platter; sweet and spicy barbeque sauce dripped from the saturated meat. Next to it, meat and noodle soup which I prepared the broth using bone marrow. I let it boil for as long as I could before adding the sliced thighs. And lastly, roasted liver drowned in a stockpot of rump gravy. I’d even found time to make broccoli, cheese potatoes, and butter rolls.

Slowly they sat, lost for words and hungry for the best food they’d ever taste.

I sat at the head of the table, drowsiness setting in as my sixth cup of coffee wore off. I felt my stomach turn with hunger as it rumbled and panged.

But it was all worth it to claim the crown and make us all happy on our favorite holiday.

We prayed again asking for protection and enlightenment. After that, we drank and ate and laughed, ignoring the elephant in the room. No one, not even Ian, asked where Milly and Skyler had gone . . . because we all knew.

And we also knew that Milly and Skyler were the best things we’d ever tasted. I could tell by the way we had gotten quiet and concentrated on the texture of the soft meat between our teeth as its savory juices soaked our tongues.

“There’s something different about the flavor,” Ian noted, breaking the random silence we all shared as we admired the marinade. The natural marinade. Ian took his last bite and put his fork down.

“Milly and Skyler had just eaten, right?” Jena asked, taking a break from sucking on her spoon, her eyes deep in a trance as she focused on Abbie.

Abbie stared back at Jena, her plate empty as if she’d licked it dry.

My brother watched me from his spot next to Abbie. He licked his lips as he gazed, looking me up and down from my torso, up to my eyes.

No one said anything for a while.

We all just looked at each other. My mouth watered as I imagined myself sinking my teeth into Jena’s grilled thick thigh or Abbie’s deep-fried forearm. Or Ian’s broiled abs. My jaw tingled, as I knew they’d be flavorful. My heart lurched as I looked into the future to see myself feasting on one of them, and deep-freezing the others for the years to come. What an offering it would be.

We all felt the same way, thought the same thoughts, and yearned for the same things. But all of us couldn’t share that dream.

There could only be one winner.

“The last man standing, wins,” Ian finally said.

Without a response, we all bolted from the table. 

Check out all of K.T. Rose’s books and previews: https://www.kyrobooks.com/books-by-kt-rose