"The Dinner Invitation"

”The Dinner Invitation”

By Michael Ostrom

Preparation

         “Why don’t you wear that sexy little dress you wore to your mother’s the other day?” Steve suggested.
         “That black one with the slit in the leg?” said Amy.
         “Yeah.”
         “I don’t think so. The only suitable pair of shoes I have kill my feet and I will not tolerate another evening in them,” replied Amy. “Don’t worry, I’ll find something in the next 10 minutes.”
         Steve laughed out loud as he turned to leave the room. “Don’t kid yourself darling. I’ll give you 30 minutes. Any more than that and I’ll be running traffic lights to get there at 8:00.”
         Amy plunged into her walk-in closet and started mumbling profanities of sorts. This was obviously the moment that every man knew to walk away. When a woman is preparing herself to be beautiful in front of others, one must not interfere. Steve quietly slipped past the chaos in the closet and left the room.
         Downstairs in his study, he collapsed into his cozy black chair and threw his feet up on the desk. Fingering through some papers he let out a laugh as he heard his wife upstairs curse at herself in frustration. Stopping at a folded letter, he pulled it out and read it aloud.

         To Mr. and Mrs. Bailey,
                   Your presence is requested at the Chateau De Louvre on this 15th day of September, 2003, for celebrations yet to be announced. Please arrive promptly for reservations at 8:00 PM. We look forward to a splendid evening of fine wine and exquisite cuisine.
         
         Sincerely,
                   Russell and Stacy Warwick

         “Yet to be announced,” he repeated again, with a quizzical expression on his face. Steve wondered what Russ was up to with such a secretive invitation. And the Chateau De Louvre was the most upscale restaurant in all of Rockland county. Heck, it was probably the most exclusive restaurant in the entire state of New York, outside of the city. This was definitely an improvement over the restaurant outings his meager writer’s salary could afford. “How can Russ possibly afford this,” he pondered.
         He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. Images of a fanciful evening flooded his thoughts. He imagined a large room, divided by a dance floor and stage. Each table had a centerpiece of exotic flowers. Colors were splashed throughout the room in all its possessions. Men and women laughed over spirits and fine tobacco. Senator Kelly sat in the corner with his entourage. Several high profile medical doctors sat at the bar and argued over stocks.
         A nauseous feeling crept over Steve and his eyes snapped wide. He leaned forward to place his head in his hands. He thought to himself, “I don’t belong in a place like this. This is not my crowd. What if Russ knows people there? I’m just a simple writer. What do I know about their politics and entertainment? I need to calm myself down.”
         Steve swiveled in his chair and came to rest in front of a massive, red oak bookshelf. Pulling down a copy of Stephen Kings’ IT off the shelf, he folded back the worn cover. A dull steel flask lay inside, with the overhead light unjustly showing its years of tarnished use. On the center of the flask, engraved in old English style cursive, was a saying from the olden days:

         For he who buys the liquor, is a sucker.
         For he who pours the liquor, is my friend.
         For he who drinks my liquor, is dead.

         Steve pulled the flask out and unscrewed the top. Memories of the past engulfed him as he swallowed a mouthful of whiskey. The subtle burn of aged scotch loosened the knot in his stomach. His voice stretched out a subtle “Ah.” A feeling of calmness came over him and he slipped the flask into the breast pocket of his suit jacket. He then closed the book up and placed it back onto the shelf.
         Steve turned back around to face his desk. As if almost on queue, Amy shouted down from the top of the stairs “I’m coming.” Her tone seemed much more pleasant, almost giddy, than it was before.
          “I’ll go and start the car. Don’t forget your inhaler.” Steve declared in a forceful, reminding tone. He heard a drawn out “okay” from above as his wife hurried to gather up the rest of her things. The good husband that he was, he always kept her asthmatic condition on the back of his mind. One scare was one too many in Steve’s life.
         The night was crisp and cool, typical of mid-September. The cul-de-sac was quiet, with the early evenings forcing the neighborhood kids home early. It was serene, but short-lived. He climbed into the seat of his sedan and started up the engine.
         Moments later, Amy appeared beneath the porch light and threw a quick wave of her hand. After struggling with the lock for several moments, she strode over to the car with a big smile on her face. She climbed in, careful not to snag her new pantyhose, and leaned in to give Steve a quick peck on the cheek. “You were right all along darling.” She then reached out to make sure the rest of her was in the car and slammed the door shut.
         Steve leaned forward to peer out the windshield, towards the sky, and said “Why me?”
         A hand flew into his peripheral vision and smacked his shoulder.
         “Are you going to be okay in those shoes tonight my dear?” The returned glance was all he needed to throw the car into reverse.
         Twenty five minutes later they pulled into the valet lot of the Chateau De Louvre. It was five minutes past eight o’clock. Valet attendants opened both doors. Steve handed the keys to a young man with a nametag that said ‘David Bartolstein.’
         “You take care of her David. This here is a classic,” he said with a smirk on his face.
         “It will be my pleasure sir,” the attendant said as he handed Steve a valet card.
         He walked around the front of the car and met Amy beneath the entrance awning. She grabbed his arm and they entered the Chateau De Louvre.

Chateau De Louvre

         Echoing footsteps bounced off the stone walls of the hallway. It was unusually dark, with the exception of candlelight dancing off the walls. Paintings of European landscapes hung throughout. Further down the corridor, a well dressed maitre d’ stood behind a tall desk, staring at the approaching guests.
         “May I help you?” he said.
         “Good evening,” Steve said. “We have reservations at eight with the Warwick’s.”
         Without hesitating, the maitre d’ waved his hand towards the left. “You are the first in your party to arrive. Follow me and I will show you to your room.”
         “Excuse me? Did you say room?” Amy said with a baffled expression on her face.
         “Yes madam,” he quickly replied as he began walking down the hallway.
         Amy gave her husband a nervous glance and squeezed his hands.
         “Don’t worry Amy. I’m sure Russ must’ve gotten a private room. Don’t forget this is a real classy place,” Steve whispered.
         “I guess,” she said as they began following, “but I don’t have to like it.”
         After several minutes of walking down endless hallways, making lefts and rights, they came upon an open door. The maitre d’ gestured for them to enter. “Make yourself comfortable and I shall return with the rest of your party when they arrive.” He quickly turned and seemed to vanish almost right away. The echoes of footsteps were all that remained of their guide.
         “Strange place,” Steve muttered under his breath. He grabbed Amy’s hand and led her into the room.
         Inside were two metal benches, on opposite sides. Separating them was a long mirrored table. There were no table settings. There were no menus. There were no decorations of any kind on the stone walls. A single red candle was burning in the middle of the table, it’s light reflecting off the surface. Affixed to the ceiling was a small black globe, like the kind found in supermarkets.
         “Honey,” Amy said with a shaken tone, “What kind of place is this?”
         “I don’t know. But we might as well take a seat and wait for Russ and Stacy.”
         “I guess,” she replied.
         They chose the bench on the left and sat down.
         A man appeared in the doorway.
         Amy screamed.

The Warwick’s

         Outside the Chateau De Louvre, a black limousine glided to a stop. The driver's side door opened and a chauffeur stepped out. He walked around the front of the car to the side in front of the Chateau. As he opened the door, the sound of laughter could be heard inside.
         A beautiful woman emerged, with golden hair flowing past the small of her back. The red slip she had on resembled more of a nightgown than an evening dress, but it did justice in concealing her. Barely. Following her out of the limousine was a man in a black Armani suit. He stood with a bright smile, his lips the same shade as the woman’s.
         ”My lady,” he said as he extended his arm and gestured for her to grab it.
         ”I would be honored,” came the reply.
         They entered the Chateau and proceeded down the hallway to the maitre d’.
         “Good Evening Mr. and Mrs. Warwick. Let me be the first to welcome you to the Chateau De Louvre.”
         “Thank you very much Jeffrey,” Russ politely replied. “My wife Stacy and I are honored to be here.”
         “Excellent! Follow me.” He led Russ and Stacy down the same corridors where Amy and Steve had just walked roughly an hour earlier. Stopping in front of a closed door, he grabbed a clipboard that was hanging on the wall. He turned around to face Russ and Stacy. “Before I let you in there, we need to finalize a few things.”
         “Okay,” replied Russ.
         “Firstly, I need you to sign this agreement allowing us to videotape you during your first meal.” Jeffrey extended the clipboard towards Russ.
         Russ reached out and accepted the clipboard. Together, he and Stacy reviewed the document for a few moments. “What’s this here about ‘Copy Approval Authorization?”
         Jeffrey responded, “In order to ensure the lasting memories of your meal, we will make a copy and store it offsite in a private location. In the event of a fire or flood, we will be able to restore the video.”
         “Okay. Sounds good to me.” Russ slid the pen from the top holder and signed where designated. He then handed the clipboard back to Jeffrey. “Is that it?”
         Jeffrey grabbed the clipboard, verified the signature, and hung it back on the wall. “No, we have one more request of you. Listen carefully.”

The Meal

         Several bullets flew through the air and struck Amy and Steve as they stood in shock at what was happening. A man had appeared in the doorway wielding a sub-machine gun. In half a moments time there were sparks erupting from the end of the weapon. The sound of gunfire resonated throughout the room.
         Amy was hit first and fell backwards, coming to rest leaning against the wall. A pool of ebony formed beneath her, leaking from a wound in her side. Her head was slumped to the right. Blood trickled out of her open mouth.
         Steve had managed to make an effort towards the gun toting man. He made two steps before collapsing face down on the stone floor. His shoulder registered a sharp pain, and he felt a puddle beneath him. He lay there, motionless, as if preserving one final moment of peace.
         The door slammed shut. Silence. Steve could feel the rapid beating of his heart. He struggled to hide the movements of his breathing if the man was still in the room. “I might have a chance if I don’t move,” he thought.
         After laying there for several moments, a click came from outside the door. It was followed by a quick clank of metal on metal. “Sounded like a lock,” he thought. He could hear footsteps fading away.
         Steve quietly pushed himself up to his elbows. He let out a grunt at the searing pain in his shoulder. After pausing for a second, he slid his knees underneath him and kneeled upright..
         “Amy,” he whispered as he lifted himself to his feet. He raced over to his wife and lifted her head. The emptiness in her eyes was all he needed to see. His legs gave way and he fell back down to the floor. He embraced his dead wife and tears began to flow down his cheeks over her blood stained hair.
         “No,” he cried. “No no no no.”
         Steve held her for what seemed like an eternity. The smell of whiskey began to dominate his senses and he lifted his head away from hers. He placed her quietly to the floor and sat on the bench to inspect himself.
         He removed his jacket and placed it next to him. His shoulder was bleeding, but it seemed like the bullet ripped right through the outer flesh. The wound wasn’t that bad. He inspected his chest and found a very large bruise above his heart.
         He grabbed at his jacket on the bench. After struggling to remove the flask from the wet jacket, it finally came loose. He lifted it to eye level and a trickle of whiskey flowed from a small hole in the front. A tear rolled down Steve’s cheek.
         Outside the door, voices were heard. Steve quietly picked himself up, flask in hand, and slowly crept over to the door. He placed his head up against the wood and listened. “ one more request of you. Listen carefully,” he heard. “You must not eat any part of their heads. From the base of the neck down is okay, but everything above it is off limits. When you are finished with your meal, their heads will be preserved and placed in the main hall. The Society elected to do this to preserve the initiation of all its’ members. Will you comply?”
         A chill crept through Steve as he recognized the voice behind the door responding ‘Yes’. “Fucking cannibals,” he thought as his hope for survival began to fade. He stepped to the side of the door and rested with his back to the wall. After a few moments, the door vibrated as a bolt snapped backwards. A single set of footsteps could be heard walking briskly away. He recognized them as the maitre d’s.
         Steve grasped the flask in his left hand and stood motionless against the wall. A breath of fresh air wafted in as the door opened. Standing behind the door, he could only see patches of motion through the crack. The voices of his friends felt like a dagger piercing his back.
         Russ and Stacy stepped through the door into the room. “Wow. Look at her honey,” Russ said.
         “Wait! Where’s Steve?” she quickly replied.
         Russ fell to his knees after a glimmer of light flew through the air and cracked against his skull.
         “You fucking cannibals!” Steve shouted as he took off out the door.
         “Holy shit!” Stacy screamed. “Russ, are you okay? What the fuck! They were supposed to be dead!” she continued screaming.
         “Shut up and go after him,” Russ yelled as he rose to his feet.
         Steve ran as fast as he could, taking turn after turn. He slipped several times, leaving streaks of red on the floor. After several minutes of running, he realized that he was lost. Voices behind him began to get closer.
         “I have to hide,” he thought.
         He saw a pair of double doors at the end of the hallway and took off running. Behind him, he heard his old friend shout “Steve! There’s no way out man! Stop running!”
         The doors flew inward and Steve struggled to maintain his balance. He collapsed to the ground and rolled onto his side. Directly in front of him was a human foot. The rest of the leg was missing.
         All around him there were voices.
         “Oooh, a delivery.”
         “Where did this one come from?”
         “Ahhh, fresh meat.”
         Steve looked around and saw men and women, rising to their feet. Their naked bodies covered in flesh and blood. They slowly approached him.
         He saw his friend Russ burst through the door. Russ shouted something, but he could not hear it over the commotion.
         The cannibals descended upon Steve.
         He screamed.